#/This is for you Scar so answer it yourself/

[puckstories]

Sweet Girl | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Dad!Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); None I believe. Fluff, established relationship, pregnancy + birth (ish), only edited once

Summary; The three times Quinn spoke to your belly + the one time he spoke to your baby

Word Count; 5.5k

Author’s note; I love this fic so much, I might make it a universe since I'm a sucker for girl dads + I'm not ready to give baby Scar and Quinn up (: As usual, any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated. Thank you for all of the support! -Honey

When you heard a knock on the door, and opened it to find a package from Amazon sitting on your doorstep, your first thought was that it must be for Quinn. It wasn’t unusual for him to order things online, especially when he was on the road and needed something shipped to the house. And though you often used his Prime account to order things for yourself too, this time you were sure you hadn’t ordered anything recently. You bent down to pick it up, the familiar brown box light in your hands as you brought it inside.

Glancing at the label, you furrowed your brow slightly. It had your name on it, but nothing about it gave you any clue what was inside. Shrugging it off, you left the package on the nightstand by Quinn's side of the bed, figuring it was something he'd ordered for himself, maybe some last-minute necessity he’d remembered while traveling.

The hours passed, and with the Canucks playing in Minnesota on another road game stint, you didn’t give much thought to the package sitting by the bed. It wasn’t until later that night, after the game, that you got a FaceTime call from Quinn. The familiar ping of your phone lit up the screen, and you smiled as his name appeared. You answered quickly, eager to see his face after missing him more than you'd care to admit.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling softly when his face appeared on your screen. His hair was still damp from his postgame shower, strands falling messily over his forehead, and the sight of him looking relaxed in his hotel room after a win sent a warm feeling through your chest.

“Hey, baby,” Quinn replied, his voice soft, but with a touch of fatigue. You could tell he was still riding the post-game high, but the exhaustion of the season was starting to creep in.

You both spent a few minutes catching up—him telling you about the game, the energy in the arena, and you sharing small details about your day, filling in the little gaps left by his absence. The conversation flowed easily, like it always did, but then, as the conversation lulled, Quinn’s brow furrowed slightly, like he’d remembered something.

“Did you get the package?” he asked suddenly, his voice casual but with a hint of elation as he adjusted the phone, leaning back against the headboard of his hotel bed.

You blinked in surprise, momentarily confused. "Package?" you echoed, your mind flipping back to the brown box you’d left on the nightstand. "Oh, yeah! That came this morning. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I just left it on your side of the bed."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Quinn’s lips, but he shook his head, his eyes softening as he looked at you through the screen. "It’s not for me," he said, his voice a little lower, with that familiar warmth that always made your heart flutter. “It’s for you, for us. I ordered it.”

Surprise flickered across your face, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly curious. "Really?" Your heart gave a little skip. Quinn wasn’t one to make a big deal out of surprises, but when he did, they were always thoughtful, something that showed how much attention he paid to the little details of your life.

He nodded, a small grin pulling at his lips as he watched your reaction. "Yeah. Go open it," he urged, his voice playful now, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you as you stood up from the couch and padded into the bedroom, phone in hand, feeling suddenly giddy. You picked up the box from the nightstand, shaking it lightly, though it didn’t give away much about what was inside. Setting your phone down on the bed so Quinn could still see you, you grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and sat down on the plush comforter, carefully slicing through the tape, your curiosity growing with every second.

"Any hints?" you asked as you opened the flaps of the box, glancing up at the screen to see him smiling.

"Not a chance," he replied, his voice filled with that playful mischief that always made your heart skip. "You’ll see in a second."

Inside the package, nestled among the packing paper, is a small green-and-white box that immediately catches your eye. You pull it out, flipping it over in your hands to examine the front. The box is labeled "Bellybuds," and your brow furrows slightly in curiosity. You’ve never heard of it before, and the image of a pregnant woman with small adhesive speakers attached to her belly leaves you wondering what exactly this is.

You hold it up toward your phone, angling it so Quinn can see the box through the screen. "What is this?" you ask, amusement coloring your voice as you turn it over again, your fingers lightly tracing the packaging.

On the other side of the phone, Quinn's face lights up, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "It's headphones... for babygirl," he says, his voice warm and filled with excitement, like a child presenting their favorite toy. "We can talk to her, play music, and stuff. Thought it'd be nice for her to hear us more clearly."

A small laugh escapes your lips, the sound light against the stillness of the room, as you glance down at your baby bump, gently resting your free hand on the slight curve of your belly. You look back at the screen, shaking your head affectionately at him. "But we already talk to her all the time," you say with a smile, "do we really need these?"

Quinn shrugs a little, but there’s a certain softness in the way he does it, a sheepish look crossing his face. His grin doesn’t fade, though—if anything, it only deepens as he watches your reaction, his eyes bright with affection. "I figured it could be fun," he admits, his voice quieter now, the tone laced with a hint of vulnerability that tugs at your heart. "You know... just something special we can do. I thought maybe she’d like hearing music, or hearing us talk to her in a different way."

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, a gentle wave of affection washing over you. The thought of Quinn, so excited to connect with your unborn daughter, to create memories and bonds even before she arrives—it fills you with a deep sense of love for him. He’s always been thoughtful, but there’s something about this moment, something about the quiet sincerity in his voice, that makes your heart swell.

You lower the box slightly, your hand still resting on your belly as you glance down at it again. The idea of playing music for her, of letting her hear the rhythm of your favorite songs, or of Quinn’s voice as he talks to her when he’s away on trips, suddenly feels incredibly sweet and meaningful.

"You’re so sweet," you murmur, lifting your gaze back to him, your voice soft and filled with affection. "I didn’t even think of something like this. But I love it."

Quinn’s grin widens at your words, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a flush of pride washes over his face. "I’m glad," he says, his tone lighter now, clearly pleased with himself. "Figured it was something a little different. Plus, I can play her some good music while I’m gone. Gotta get her used to my playlists early," he adds with a chuckle.

A snort escapes you, as you shake your head. "Right, because I’m sure she’s going to love Counting Crows just as much as you do," you tease, your smile growing as you imagine him curating a playlist of all his favorite songs just for her.

"Hey, she’ll have great taste, thanks to me," he replies, feigning mock offense, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s enjoying the playful banter as much as you are. "She’s gonna be the coolest kid around, trust me."

You roll your eyes with a grin, but your heart swells with warmth at the thought of the two of you already imagining what kind of music she’ll like, how she’ll react to the sounds of your voices. It makes everything feel more real, more tangible—like your little family is slowly but surely coming together.

You open the box carefully, pulling out the small circular speakers, running your fingers over the smooth surface. The adhesive pads are meant to stick to your belly, gently transmitting sound into your womb.

"You know," you begin, your gaze flickering back to the phone screen, "I think it’ll be really nice. She’ll get to hear your voice more often when you’re away for games... it’ll be like you’re still here, even when you’re not."

Quinn’s expression softens at that, his grin fading into something more tender, more intimate. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet warmth. "That’s exactly what I was hoping for. I hate being away, especially now. But this... I thought it could help. Like, she’ll know I’m still with you two, even when I’m on the road."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can feel the emotions welling up inside you, your eyes watering as you look at him. The way he talks about your daughter, the way he’s so thoughtful and attentive to both of you, makes you fall in love with him even more. You bite your lip, a smile spreading across your face as you press your hand a little more firmly against your belly, feeling the weight of your daughter resting there.

"She’s going to love hearing your voice," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "And so will I."

1

"Hey there, sweet girl," Quinn’s voice is a low, soothing murmur, barely above a whisper, as he speaks into the microphone of his phone. "Daddy here," he adds softly, his tone filled with warmth and tenderness, like every word is wrapped in love.

He shifts carefully on the bed, moving slowly so as not to disturb you from your deep sleep. The dim light from his phone screen casts a soft glow over the room, the only sound being the quiet hum of the fan and the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Quinn settles back against the pillows, adjusting himself so he can be closer to you, his body leaning into your side.

His free hand reaches out, fingertips grazing the soft fabric of your tank top before gently coming to rest on the curve of your baby bump. His touch is light, reverent, like he’s afraid he might wake you if he presses too hard. But even in your sleep, the warmth of his hand resting on your belly sends a sense of comfort through you, as though even unconsciously, your body knows that he's there. His thumb starts moving in slow, gentle circles over your bump, a calming rhythm that has become second nature to him—his way of connecting with both of you.

His eyes soften as he gazes down at the swell of your stomach, where your baby girl is growing, nestled safely inside you. The sight still fills him with awe every time he sees it—the miracle of life forming between you both, the quiet anticipation of becoming a father. He leans closer, careful not to disturb the Bellybuds that are attached to your bump, the small adhesive pads delivering his voice directly to the baby through the connected cord in the phone.

"Just wanted to let you know how much I love you," he whispers softly, his voice low and full of affection. "Before I go to sleep tonight."

The corners of his lips twitch into a small smile as he speaks, his thumb continuing its gentle movements over your belly, tracing slow, lazy circles. He takes a deep breath, letting the moment wash over him. It’s something he’s done often lately—these quiet talks with your baby girl before bed. He knows she might not fully understand, but the thought of her possibly hearing his voice, growing familiar with the sound of her dad, fills him with a sense of happiness he can’t quite put into words.

"I had a long day, and I know you’re probably resting too," he continues, his voice steady but filled with a kind of quiet wonder. "But I couldn’t let the night end without saying goodnight." He leans forward just slightly, brushing a soft kiss against the top of your belly, the warmth of his lips barely touching your skin. "I can’t wait to meet you, sweet girl. Every day, I think about what it’s going to be like when you’re finally here with us."

There’s a pause as he glances up at you, still sound asleep beside him, your breathing steady and peaceful. The room feels still, but in a way that makes everything feel more intimate, more present. His eyes flicker back down to your belly, the small life growing inside, and he feels the overwhelming sense of love flood him once again—an emotion so strong it almost takes his breath away.

"I promise I’ll always take care of you," Quinn whispers into the microphone, his voice dropping even lower, as though he’s sharing a secret just between him and his daughter. "And your mom, too. We’re a team, the three of us. And I’m gonna do my best to make sure you have everything you need, to keep you safe, and to love you more than anything in this world."

His hand moves slightly, his palm now resting flat against the curve of your belly, feeling the faint, subtle movements beneath. Sometimes, when the timing is right, he can feel her respond, little kicks or shifts, as though she knows he’s there. It’s in those moments that the reality of fatherhood feels most real to him, the little reminders that soon, she’ll be here in his arms.

"You’re already so loved, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice soft and tender as he speaks into the microphone, his gaze never leaving your bump. "Your mom and I... we talk about you all the time. What you’ll be like, what you’ll look like. I think you’re going to be perfect. And I can’t wait to see who you become."

The weight of his words lingers in the air, and Quinn takes another breath, feeling the warmth of your body beside him, the closeness of your shared space. He glances back at you, his heart swelling with affection as he takes in the peaceful look on your face, the way you look so serene in your sleep. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

"I’m so lucky to have you," he whispers, his voice barely audible, meant only for your sleeping ears. "Both of you."

For a long moment, Quinn just lays there, his hand resting protectively over your belly, his heart full of so much love he can barely contain it. He thinks about the future—the late-night feedings, the first steps, the endless love he’s ready to give to both you and your daughter. It all feels so real, so close, and he can’t help but feel grateful for everything you’ve built together.

After a few more moments of quiet, he shifts slightly, letting out a soft sigh as his hand lingers on your bump one last time. "Goodnight, sweet girl," he whispers softly into the microphone, his voice full of tenderness and love. "I’ll see you soon."

2

"Hey there, sweet girl, Daddy here." Quinn speaks into the microphone of his phone, the sound laced with a soft chuckle as he follows you around the kitchen, making sure the Bellybuds stay securely attached to your baby bump. Every step you take, he mirrors, careful not to let the wires tangle or the pads come loose.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile that tugs at your lips as you shuffle around the counter. "Quinn, I’m trying to cook," you say, your tone a mix of amusement and exasperation as you glance over your shoulder at him.

"It’s not my fault Mommy got out of bed before I could say good morning, right, sweet girl?" His grin widens as he speaks into the phone, leaning in slightly as though your daughter, nestled safely in your belly, can hear him more clearly that way. There’s a lightness in his voice, full of the kind of joy that comes naturally when he’s talking to your unborn child—like he’s already practicing the loving banter he’ll share with her once she’s here.

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you move back to the stove, carefully flipping the strips of bacon sizzling in the pan. The kitchen is cozy, the rich, savory smell of breakfast filling the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee brewing on the counter. Sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a golden glow across the countertops, and the whole scene feels peaceful, wrapped in the simple comfort of a Saturday morning.

Quinn trails behind you, keeping close, the ever-present grin still on his face. His eyes are filled with that familiar playful glint, the one that tells you he’s not taking any of this too seriously—but at the same time, you know just how much these moments mean to him. He takes every chance he can get to bond with your little one, to talk to her, even if it’s just silly things or affectionate words whispered against your belly. It’s something you’ve grown to love even more about him during this pregnancy—how committed he is to being present, even before she’s here.

You shuffle across the kitchen to grab a plate for the bacon, and as you do, Quinn follows closely behind, adjusting the Bellybuds’ cord as you move. You shoot him another glance, one eyebrow raised, even as a smile pulls at the corner of your lips. "Shouldn’t you be getting ready for morning skate?" you ask, your tone teasing as you gesture vaguely toward the clock on the wall.

Quinn shrugs, leaning casually against the counter, his hand resting on your bump for just a moment before he drops it back to his side. "Nah," he says with a playful smirk, "I’ve got a few minutes. Besides, what’s more important—hockey or talking to my daughter?" His eyes sparkle with mischief as he shifts his focus back to your belly, speaking directly into the microphone. "See, sweet girl? Daddy has his priorities straight. Morning skate can wait."

You let out another huff of amusement, shaking your head as you plate the crispy bacon. "Priorities, huh?" You glance at him, a soft smile dancing on your lips. "I’ll remember that the next time you’re in the playoffs."

He laughs, the sound rich and easy, and steps closer, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist from behind, careful not to disrupt your cooking. You feel the warmth of his chest press against your back, the familiar weight of his body comforting as he leans his chin gently on your shoulder, peeking around to watch you cook. His hand slides down, resting protectively over your bump, his fingers splayed across your belly as if he’s trying to feel every little movement she might make.

"I promise," he murmurs, his voice softer now, his lips brushing your ear, "she’ll always come first. Even during playoffs."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, you pause in your task, turning your head just enough to catch his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, that quiet kind of love that’s always been there, but seems to have grown even deeper during this pregnancy. You lean back into him slightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against your back, and for a brief moment, everything feels perfectly still.

"I know," you murmur, your hand resting on top of his as it cradles your belly.

The moment stretches on for a beat longer, before Quinn presses a soft kiss to your temple, then pulls back with a playful grin. "But seriously," he adds, "we can’t have her growing up thinking she's not the light of my life."

You laugh, the sound bright and easy as you turn back to the stove, flipping the eggs that are now starting to sizzle in the pan. "No, we definitely can’t have that." You agree, amused.

Quinn leans against the counter, still keeping a close eye on you as you move around the kitchen, his eyes occasionally flicking down to your belly. He’s quiet for a moment, just watching, but there’s a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Besides, I think she’s already going to have pretty high expectations for you," you say, glancing at him with a smile as you finish cooking, setting the eggs and bacon on the table. "Talking to her every day, following me around like a puppy..."

He shrugs again, not even trying to hide the grin this time. "Hey, I’ve got to make sure she knows she’s got the best dad in the world, right?"

You shake your head, laughing as you move toward him, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck as he pulls you close. "I think she’s going to know that no matter what," you say softly, your eyes meeting his, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, the kind that’s full of love and gratitude, the kind that says more than words ever could. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but full of warmth.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. You glance down at your belly, where the Bellybuds are still securely attached, and grab his phone from his hand, bringing the microphone to your lips. "And I know you love daddy too, right sweet girl?"

3

"Hey there, sweet girl, Daddy here," Quinn whispers softly into the microphone, his voice a murmur in the stillness of the night. The house around you is silent, save for the faint rustling of the trees outside the window and the gentle sound of your breathing as you sleep peacefully beside him. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts a warm, golden light over the room, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of comfort.

Carefully, Quinn adjusts the Bellybuds, making sure the small adhesive speakers are securely attached to your growing belly, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he does. Once satisfied that everything is in place, he leans back against the pillows, settling himself beside you and letting out a quiet, contented sigh.

"You're due to come see me and Mommy very soon," he begins. His free hand moves to rest gently on your belly, the warmth of his palm spreading across your skin as his thumb traces slow, soothing circles over the curve of your bump. "And we're so excited to finally meet you."

The smile on his face widens as he speaks the words aloud, the reality of it sinking in more and more with every passing day. His heart swells with emotion, a mixture of excitement and nerves at the thought of holding his daughter in his arms for the first time. He’s imagined it a thousand times already—what it will feel like, what she’ll look like—and yet, he knows nothing can truly prepare him for the moment when she finally arrives.

"We have your nursery all set up," he continues, his voice full of pride. "Mommy picked out the prettiest colors and decorations. And she bought you so many cute outfits... I know you’ll be just adorable." His words are filled with affection as he thinks about the hours you spent meticulously planning and decorating the nursery. He remembers the way your eyes lit up with excitement every time a new package arrived at the door—tiny clothes, soft blankets, little shoes too small to seem real.

Quinn chuckles softly to himself, his thumb still moving in slow circles over your belly. "I can already picture you wearing those little onesies. Mommy’s got good taste," he says with a grin, though his voice softens as he adds, "You’re going to be the most beautiful girl in the world, and I can’t wait to see you."

The room falls into a comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His gaze drifts back to you, watching as you shift slightly in your sleep, snuggling deeper into the blankets. He loves these quiet moments with you, when the world feels small and the love he has for you and your growing family feels like the only thing that matters.

"You're our first, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower, as if he's sharing a secret meant just for her. His thumb continues its rhythmic motion on your belly, grounding him in the moment, the connection between the three of you palpable. "So Mommy and I... we might not be perfect. We’ll probably make mistakes, and we’re still learning. But I promise you, we’ll always try our best for you."

The sincerity in his words hangs in the air, a promise that he knows will shape the rest of his life. Fatherhood is something he’s thought about for so long, and now that it’s just around the corner, the weight of it feels both exhilarating and humbling. He knows there will be challenges, sleepless nights, moments of doubt—but he also knows that the love he feels for you and your daughter will guide him through it all. It already has.

"Daddy loves you," he whispers softly into the microphone, his voice filled with all the love and devotion he can possibly give. "So much. And I can’t wait to show you just how much when you get here." He leans down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your belly, his lips warm against your skin.

+1

Scarlett Eloise Hughes was born on July 2nd, arriving into the world at seven pounds, four ounces, with the tiniest tuft of brown hair and the clearest green eyes you’d ever seen. From the moment you heard her first cry, a quiet, delicate sound that filled the room, your heart swelled with a love so overwhelming, it felt like nothing else existed beyond that moment. Time seemed to slow as the nurses moved around you, murmuring their congratulations as they swiftly began their work.

The delivery couldn’t have gone smoother. It was as if Scarlett herself had been eager to meet you and Quinn, arriving just two hours after you checked into the hospital. Your contractions had come on strong that morning, starting as a dull ache and quickly intensifying until you knew it was time.

But even considering the relative ease of it all, you were exhausted—utterly spent in the best possible way. The rush of adrenaline from labor, the flood of emotions that came with bringing new life into the world, had left you physically and emotionally drained, but also more fulfilled than ever before.

You watched through hazy eyes as Quinn, who had been by your side every second, stepped forward to cut Scarlett’s umbilical cord. The nurse handed him the scissors, and though his hand trembled slightly, his face was full of awe. You could see the tears glistening in his eyes as he gently snipped the cord, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check. It was such a simple act, but in that moment, it felt monumental—like a bridge between pregnancy and the start of your new lives as parents.

Once the nurses had gently taken Scarlett away to clean her off, weigh her, and perform the routine newborn checks, the room felt quiet, almost surreal. You lay back against the pillows, your body heavy with fatigue but your heart full of love. Every so often, you could hear the soft sound of Scarlett’s tiny cries as they swaddled her in a warm blanket and placed her in the bassinet.

Then, at last, they brought her over to you.

The moment they placed her in your arms, everything else melted away. Scarlett was so small, so delicate, her skin still slightly flushed from the effort of being born. Her tiny fingers curled reflexively into a fist, her eyes blinking up at you as though she were trying to focus on the face she had yet to fully see but already knew so well. The warmth of her little body pressed against yours made your chest tighten with emotion, and as you gazed down at her, you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

"Hi, Scarlett," you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion as you leaned your forehead against hers for just a moment, taking in her scent, that unmistakable newborn smell that was somehow both sweet and comforting. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Scarlett blinked again, her tiny lips parting slightly as she made a soft cooing sound, and in that moment, it was as though your entire world had shifted. Every hope, every dream, every little piece of your life had led to this—this beautiful, perfect baby girl in your arms.

You shifted her gently, positioning her so you could nurse her for the first time. Her tiny mouth latched onto your breast instinctively, and the sensation was both strange and wonderful all at once.

It was breathtaking moment, just you and her, connected in a way that felt profound to you. You could feel her little body relax against yours as she fed, her breathing evening out, her tiny fingers resting against your chest.

Tears filled your eyes again, and you glanced over at Quinn, who stood watching silently. His eyes held a mix of emotions—joy, admiration, and a deep, unwavering love. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment she was born, but now, watching you nurse Scarlett, that smile softened into something more tender, more meaningful.

Once Scarlett finished feeding, you gently lifted her and cradled her close to your chest, marveling at how perfectly she fit into your arms, like she was meant to be there all along. After a few moments, you met Quinn’s gaze and smiled softly.

"You're up next, daddy." you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn nodded, his throat visibly working as he tried to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to overcome him, though you could see the eagerness in his eyes.

"Take off your shirt," you added, remembering the advice about skin-to-skin contact. You wanted him to experience that bond, the warmth of her small body against his, just as you had.

Without hesitation, Quinn pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the nearby chair. He stepped closer, his movements careful and measured, as though he were afraid of disturbing the fragile moment. Gently, you passed Scarlett into his arms, watching as he settled into the chair beside your hospital bed.

The second Scarlett was in his arms, her little body resting against his bare chest, something changed in Quinn. His entire posture softened, his shoulders relaxing as if every ounce of tension had melted away. He held her with the utmost care, his large hands supporting her tiny head, his thumb brushing gently across her back as she nestled against him.

"Hey there, sweet girl," Quinn whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he gazed down at her in awe. "Daddy here."

Scarlett’s small hand flexed against his chest, and Quinn let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He leaned his head down slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as though he couldn’t bear to pull away.

The sight of them together—the love radiating from Quinn, the peaceful way Scarlett settled into his arms—filled you with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. This was your family now. The three of you, together, bound by the deepest kind of love.

Quinn rocked gently in the chair, his eyes never leaving Scarlett’s face, as though he were committing every detail of this moment to memory. "You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I love you so much. You have no idea."

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you watched them, your heart full to bursting. This was everything you had hoped for and more—a moment of pure, unfiltered love. "She’s perfect," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Quinn glanced up at you, his eyes shining with tears of his own. "Yeah, she really is."

[jweekgoji]

psst

if u have time pls do a continuation of the Yandere d-16 and reader but somehow he finds the reader when he’s Megatron and this time HE tops

Yandere!Megatron/Reader [TFO]

tw: ROBOTS sexxx (minors don't read please), possesive behavior, mentions of jealousy, brief violence/threats, biting, word count: ~1,2k additional tags: dom!Megatron, sub!reader, decepticon!reader, idol!reader, cybertronian!reader. a/n: it's not like /megs/ finds reader here but the other way around (ig) hehe.

The news of the sudden death of Sentinel Prime had reached you suddenly. Another ordinary, simple day, as it seemed back then. You were used to living in comfort and coziness, after all, from the moment you were born, you were special. At least, you couldn't help but feel that way in a privileged society.

Now, thinking about it, a feeling of pity and wrongness overwhelms your thoughts. It was no surprise that those who were unlucky enough to be born with t-cog had no choice but to dedicate their entire existence for the greater good of your entire race.

Standing humbly behind the decepticon leader's back, you only gave a silent glance in his direction. How much had he managed to endure? What exactly did he have witnessed that day when he went from an obedient and shy D-16 to...

“Why are you still here?” a deep, gravelly voice suddenly yanked you out of your thoughts.

For a moment, you didn't know what to answer. Was it that important? No, you never noticed him asking the same question to the others.

“To fight alongside you, Megatron,” you quickly replied, your arms kept hidden behind your back, like a well-trained soldier.

A soft, almost inaudible huff escaped from his lips as he shook his helm in mild frustration. He slowly turned around to bore his own red optics into yours. Weren't they orange? You didn't recall.

“That's not what I asked you,” Megatron narrowed his optics, his gaze still as stern. “You know what I'm talking about.”

You tilted your helm down, as if in submission or simply unable to maintain eye contact with him. Either way, an ominous feeling of regret continued to grow inside you, despite how often you tried convincing yourself that it was never your fault.

Funny, isn't it? It seemed like a while ago, here were the two of you right next to each other. His smaller, so small but never fragile frame, was so tender in your servos.

The chassis was completely tarnished in little bruises and scratches, yet it was always a pleasure to gently run your servo over the surface of the silver metal, feeling how the mech beneath you could only bite his fist in a desperate attempt to not make a single sound.

But now, everything seems so different, strange perhaps, but at the same time in its own way familiar. Above you now is a different person; to deny that would be foolish, if not pointless.

The frame is wider, much bigger, than you can remember. The chassis is now peppered with a lot of scars after numerous battles in which you can only feel sorry for every opponent he's faced. All stained in energon, the pink liquid slowly oozing out to smear your own frame. You know it doesn't belong to him.

“Mine, you're all mine,” his servo tightening around your wrists, pinning them both above your helm.

Megatron's heavy breathing made a pleasant shiver run along your spine, and almost instinctively, you pressed your hips against his own.

Everything felt so hot now, so suffocating, that you were barely hanging on to keep from passing out. His chassis only pressed you down further, taking away any chance you had of escaping.

You wish you could tell him so much now. That now, all in his power, you would have never dared to leave him at a moment like this. You would take whatever he would choose to give you, even though he was still inexperienced with controlling his own power.

The thoughts of the past fight gave Megatron no relief. It seemed that the more he focused on the past, the more he wanted to lash out with all of his pent-up anger at you. And you would take it, wouldn't you? You'd always come back and beg for more.

His servo squeezes your thigh, stroking and massaging, then, moves only lower to forcefully spread your legs. Your interface panel was open long ago, presenting him your soaking wet port. Getting off on this as much as he is, what a freaking pathetic duo you both are. That is why you have always been perfect for him, he thinks.

With a rough thrust, Megatron buries his spike inside you to a halt; the way you squeeze around him, writhing in pain and pleasure, is a godlike sight for him. Primus, he should have done that a long, long time ago. If only he wasn't so meek and weak-willed back then, but now he's thankful for it.

He lets out a low, guttural growl as he slams his hips against yours once again, receiving a soft whine. A small, still sensible part of him restrains himself to ruin your body more. That deep-rooted care and desire, genuine love, still makes him act all soft with you. It tells him to leave more kisses, to shower you in that love and care he grew for you for cycles from only observing.

Megatron grits his teeth at the thought. Acting soft and weak already cost him enough suffering in the past. Making the same mistakes again will only show off how little he changed since that day...

He tastes the energon on his glossa, leaving a cold, wet trail of saliva on your neck, only to be followed by a sudden bite, which makes you gasp in surprise.

It was a miracle that no one had entered the room by that time, with none of you trying to hide your gasps and moans from the potential listeners. Perhaps, they already found out; even Starscream, with how often he comes here to complain and grumble about everything, doesn't dare to bother Megatron at the moment of raw need, adrenaline rushing through the whole frame.

Your soft moans are music to Megatron's mind. Every single time you let out his name, breathlessly asking for more, only makes him pepper your neck in wet kisses, more of those bleeding marks forever marking your body. That is how it should be, how it always should have been. You underneath him, so beautiful and perfect, and the most important, this way everyone will know that you are his.

He had grown tired of competing for your attention since when he was a miner. Every day of hard work, daydreaming about you, of you finally noticing him instead of attending another race, with countless of other Iaconians showing their love for you. He would not make any more mistakes.

His, his and only.

“If you ever think of leaving me,” Megatron leans his helm closer to you, burying your face into the crook of your neck. “I will find and kill you with my own servos.”

What you said to him that day never left the mind of the leader of the decepticons. And it seemed that from that moment on, your relationship with each other took on a very different direction.y

Who knew that the threat of your own execution by no one else, but Megatron, would sound so hot to you?

[left-side-up]

Jupiter

Smallishbeans hit the ground too hard.

When Joel opens his eyes, he's in a desert.

That's strange. For one, the Wild Life server doesn't have a desert. Even if it did, Joel wouldn't be around to see it, seeing as he's dead now.

The sun beams down on the sand. Joel squints. It's unbearably bright here.

The desert looks like it used to be a war zone. Cacti and lava surround its borders, making an impenetrable wall, and in the middle of everything is a series of deep craters.

There's not another soul in sight.

Joel begins walking.

Something about this place seems sad. Familiar, almost. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but he just can't seem to grasp it. He knows this place.

An image of Gem flashes in his head. She would've liked to build here, he thinks. She'd know how to turn the barren wasteland into something cute and livable. He wishes she'd had more time. A space to build freely without fear of being backstabbed or blown up.

There's something you're forgetting.

"Who was that?"

Joel whips around, searching for the source of the voice. There's still no one here. The sun beams down on the sand.

"Show yourself! I just won a death game, I'll have you know!"

I know.

In the blinding light of the desert, the waves of heat start to reassemble a person.

"Who are you?"

The figure is short, but it's hard to make out any other features. Joel reaches for a sword, but his hand comes back empty.

The mirage raises a hand and gestures for Joel to come closer. Then it starts walking away. Under any other circumstances, Joel wouldn't be dumb enough to follow. But Lizzie and Gem are gone, and Joel is pretty sure he's dead, and there's nothing left to lose now. So he follows.

As they walk, the mirage becomes clearer and clearer. It begins with a more solid outline. Then sandy blond hair. Then a red sweater, and fabric draped over it, large enough to defend from the desert sun. Then feathers, red and blue and yellow.

I killed you, Joel thinks. And then- No. You're not the Grian I killed.

A mountain comes into view. There are structures on top, and stairs leading up to them- evidence of life.

Or not.

The house is just as destroyed as the rest of the desert. All that remains of the front porch is a flowerpot, cracked and lain on its side, dirt and dead lilacs pouring out of it.

The mirage of Grian is now clearer than ever. Joel can see the scars on his hands and the poppy in his hair as he guides him towards their final destination.

A grave. And a ring of cacti. And blood, splattered all around the tiny arena. The mirage kneels in the red sand, resting his hands in his lap.

Sit with me, he beckons, and Joel complies.

It's silent for a moment. Just Joel, the mirage of Grian, and the grave before them. Then-

Can we still be friends?

Joel startles at Scar's voice. He looks around, but there is no Scar, mirage or otherwise.

YOU TRAITOR!

Long live the science bros!

Put your shirt back on!

I am going to murder them.

Grian and Scar's voices echo through the war torn desert, a series of memories Joel has no part in. Some sad, some happy, some bleak or forlorn. Beside him, the mirage holds his head high. Grian has always been a prideful being. Even when he's sad. Even when he's in pain.

...How does he know that?

You may slay me and take the enchanter.

I can't do that.

I think that, no matter what, we can call this a double victory.

Scar, fight back!

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry, Scar.

Grian fell from a high place.

The mirage is crying.

Joel thinks he can piece together what happened here.

"Grian, is this... was this a life game?"

Do you really want to know?

"Yes."

Grian wipes his tears, then holds out his hands to Joel.

I'm sorry in advance.

"For what?"

The mirage doesn't respond.

Joel sighs and takes Grian's hands.

[sobbingscripter]

DAY 11: Eleven Pipers Piping

☃️A Star Is Born☃️

Tags: [mlw][mdni][analingus][ass play][oral (f receiving)][friends to lovers]

❄️☃️❄️

"You know, I always thought 'A Star is Born' was about the birthing of Christ."

Your voice breaks the quiet peace between the two of you, snow falling just outside your apartment window and the low hum of the space heater is the only sound other than the faint sound of Christmas carols playing from the apartment next door.

It's quiet other than that. The soft symphony of your quiet breaths taken in tandem as you rest beside him, backs against the sofa and your eyes absentmindedly watching one of those generic Christmas movies.

A woman travels to a new city, uptight and whatnot, meets a carefree guy who teaches her how to love.

But that peaceful reverie is broken when you speak.

The laughter tumbles from Jason's lips like a waterfall, piggy snorts and wheezes slipping out in the same breath, a delightful cadence and you watch as the dimples in his cheeks deepen and the corners of his eyes crease. He's still got a few bruises on him, a plaster over his nose and a cut on his eyebrow and his bottom lip.

"How the fuck did you—" He can barely speak before he snorts with laughter, watching as you shift in your position, visibly getting ready to defend yourself.

"Because like... The title sounds... Biblical, you know?" You answer and Jason shakes his head, that snowy streak in his hair a complete contrast to the inkiness of his hair, undertoned by a faint red.

"No, no I do not know." He snickers.

"Like... You know how the wise men followed the star? And the star seemed to like... Appear out of nowhere, or at least, it wasn't as bright? And like, I was like, 'oh, the star that the wise men followed to get to like, the miracle baby'."

Jason stares at you, a dark brow raised and arched as he listens to you ramble, motioning with your hands. Manicured fingers, that enunciate each of your points and those rosy lips, forming words that he has no intention of storing in the 1 megabyte memory card that is his brain.

"Jason." You snap your fingers in front of his face. "Are you even listening to me?"

"No I'm not." He hums. "You know, when you talk and laugh a lot, your eyes crease in the corners?"

Jason leans forward. "It's really sexy."

"...fuck—..shit.. don't stop..."

You feel like the bottom of the barrel. Allowing yourself to be bent over your coffee table, just because someone said your smile lines were sexy.

But you don't dwell too much on it because Jason's nose is nuzzling against your slick entrance as his tongue circles your clit. His strong, scarred hands spread your ass cheeks apart, and he spits down the cleft, watching the way your puckered hole spasms at the unusual sensation.

And Jason groans, pressing a thumb against the hole and slowly tracing it, just as he sucks your clit into his mouth, soft, pursed lips pressing adoring kisses to your needy pussy.

"Fuck, you taste so good."

Jason breathes out, long lashes fluttering as he continues to tease your ass, feeling the slow pulses and he groans, tongue diving between your slippery folds.

It's stupidly good, and you can barely focus on the drool that drips down your plump bottom lip in a thin glob, your mind too fucked out to realise it.

You're pushing yourself against Jason's face, your back arched and your hips wriggling because you just need something to soothe that little burning feeling in your gut. Something to fill up your empty cunt, that seems to ooze with slick, clenching around nothing.

Jason shifts, kicking your legs further apart and slowly, you feel your hole welcome something so.... Warm. And wet. And slippery.

Jason fucks you with his tongue, skilled fingers teasing your asshole while the other hand flicks across your clit, and he groans as you spasm on his tongue, slick sputtering out of you as he keeps tonguefucking you through your orgasm.

When Jason's tongue curls against your perineum, dragging the wet muscle slowly along your fluttering hole, you gasp. Nails digging into the sofa and your cheek pressed against the backrest and he hums, a laugh slipping past his lips.

"Maybe we should switch positions."

Jason mutters almost thoughtfully, broad hands massaging the globes of your ass, the fat of your hips and your thighs. And he presses a kiss to the small of your back.

His hands are rough but they're so gentle against your hands, as he guides you carefully, your knees pressing against the cushion of the sofa.

"Come on, pretty," Jason hums quietly, resting back on the other sofa, his broad body dwarfing the furniture.

"Pop a squat on Daddy's face."

[grimsonandclover]

The diner booth is comfortable enough, the red vinyl cracking and exposing veins of yellow foam that have probably soaked years of spilled drinks and dripped sauce into them. You think about it every time you sit on them.

"What," Patrick clears his throat, adjusting himself in the seat opposite you as his eyes glance at fingers that play with a simple gold pendant around your neck, "Do you want to order anything?"

The menu is the same it always has been. Shrimp cocktail nobody ever has or ever should order, cheeseburgers that could send you into a coma, mozerella sticks and onion rings that taste like hollow dough. The food is lackluster but that's never why you came here, not for those. No, Patrick and you would always order-

"Just fries."

He swallows thickly. Patrick always asks, or always did, more out of habit than necessity. It was always a basket of fries split between the two of you here. The only thing that has felt normal to him in a lifetime. Those are the first words you've spoken to him since you'd told him to leave.

How many words ago was that? How many basket of fries lost since? Immesurable.

They're eaten in silence, which had never happened before. Years before, the meal would be filled with chatter and laughter, drama and gossip, bickering and jabs. No smart remarks were launched from one end of the veneered table to the other, no side-long glances or words of praise or scorn. Just the shuffling behind the diner counter as Marta wipes the laminate down and Billy finishes the night's dwindling orders in the kitchen behind. Forks scrape against ceramic, cups clank, someone coughs. Neither of you speak.

Patrick clears his throat for a second time. Looking over through the window beside you, one that faces the snowy parking lot, he asks you a silent question.

"Let's go to mine." You answer, knowing you're sparing him the shame of explaining his situtation if you offered his.

He's sat on your couch while you're on the floor, your head leaning back against the cushion while he crosses his arms across and Patrick props his feet up on your coffee table.

"Fuck, just... I don't know, say something."

You can tell the quiet is stressing him out, it always has. Quiet was either filled with judgement and strain, or it was filled with his ramblings. It never just existed. "Don't know what to say." It's the truth, you don't.

"Well, then... how are you doing?"

You shrug. He's still your Facebook friend, and you know he checks it. According to that, you're thriving.

"Jesus, man..."

Thirteen years has put distance between you, so much so that the invisible string tying you two together must look worn and frayed. It's been hard for you lately, a fact not broadcasted on your Facebook (where the only thing posted there now are updates you'd care for extended family to see). Patrick can see it, though. He saw it the moment he saw you on the court.

Your knuckles are red and scraped like your knees, creases now appear at the corner of your eyes and mouth when you talk and smile or frown, new and old scars litter your shoulder and chest. When you were eleven, the two of you were running in his backyard and you cut yourself on the shin with a jutting out bit of rock on a nearby fountain you'd circled, threatening Patrick that you'd jump in and through it to catch him. He can still see that scar now, skin bare as you sit in your same tennis shorts and tank.

Patrick could smell your sweat and perfume, and feel your hair tickle his thigh, and breathe your air, and see you, but he couldn't hear you. A pack of Camel Blues is pulled from his pocket. Same ones he's always smoked.

You'd scold him for smoking in your apartment, but that's too many words you'd care to spare him. At least the balcony doors are open.

He pulls two out, placing them both between his lips and grabbing the lighter you're suddenly handing him, your empty fingers now given one of the two lit cigarettes. A habit picked up as kids.

The cigarettes dwindle in your novelty ashtray, and now Patrick stands at your front door, pulling a threadbare coat over tired, cold muscle. Your fault for not turning on the heat. You think the years did him good. A part of you hopes they have, one that's lied dormant since it all ended. That part of you is old and sleepy, quiet as it's awoken, but you can still hear it. You really hope he's alright. The stubble looks alright.

He's looking down at his shoes, then yours, then to the golden pendant that he gave you exactly thirteen years ago, then to you.

"You've spoken exactly eleven words to me." Patrick can't look you in the eye, a weak smile on the corner of his mouth as his gaze darts down again. "Almost one for every year."

You hesitate for a moment before you reach up and behind your neck. You almost don't.

Grabbing his hand and pulling his fingers apart, the only contact you've made with him, you can feel the same callouses on warm, distantly familiar skin. His nails are in the same sorry state they've always been, bitten down and beaten for a good thirty-one years. He's confused by what you're doing, and then you're making his heart stop, head spin. When he looks into his palm, he sees the gift.

"Goodbye, Patrick."

[genderqueerdykes]

hi hello Equinox! I've been looking into the possibility of having hEDS myself and was wondering if y'all could talk about some of your experiences with it? only if you're comfortable of course very not forced lol :D

hey, sure! i hope some of this will be helpful to you!

an ex pointed out that i might have had it back in ~2020. he commented on how velvety smooth my skin is (i do not moisturize all over, it's just like this) along with how stretchy it is, and how flexible some of my joints are. i was not able to confirm it for a while until 2023 when i started going to physical therapy for my lower back. there, both in the intake and when i was doing exercises, my therapists all asked me if i had hEDS, due to how fair i can stretch, and how i naturally over extend my knees without realizing it. it lead me to laugh and say, "Well, I guess I do!"

i've always been more flexible than most people around me, even for someone who's 320 lbs, i am still more flexible than most people i know. when i was in high school, there were some flexibility tests that our entire PE class had to do, and i was the one who could stretch the farthest, even though i was 300 lbs even at that stage in my life. as i got older, i realized it's extremely easy to injure myself on accident and that that's NOT normal. i don't and have never cracked my knuckles on purpose because all it does is shift my knuckles out of place

it's very easy for me to pinch nerves and muscles between my joints, even when i'm being careful. sometimes it happens in my sleep or even while i'm just sitting stock still. i actually have a pinched nerve in my forearm right now from a wrist injury that has never healed properly. speaking of that, with it being super easy to injure myself, sometimes, i don't recover from those injuries for a long time, or at all. i got a microfracture in my left forearm from punching an object out of rage while being emotionally abused by someone in January of 2024 and it is nearly January of 2025 and it is not healed at all. i'm in PT for it right now and it's getting somewhat better, but not by much

wound healing is a mixed bag for me, sometimes i'm alright with it but generally it takes a long time and i'm very prone to scarring. even relatively light cuts can cause a scar. my teeth are also very weak because of this. the connective tissue that should keep them rooted in place in my gums is weak, and i've lost 2 teeth so far because of it. i still do my best to brush my teeth, but i just have naturally weak connective tissue that isn't able to protect my teeth from infections as well as others. i've had VERY bad dental pain and have gotten lots of infections in my teeth over the years, to the point of needing antibiotics several times

if i think of anything else, i'll let you know! if you have any more questions, i'm happy to answer whatever i can! good luck in your journey, fortunately it's generally pretty easy for medical professionals to tell if you have hEDS or not- they'll generally ask you to do some very light stretches (sometimes even just seeing how far your fingers bend/extend) and can tell pretty easily just by looking at how your joints bend and behave. take care of yourself for now!

[noxturnalmoth]

Literary Service

Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Chapter 4: Emotional Ambush

Weeks had passed since your confession to Mr.Marlowe, and although you expected a rejection towards your feelings of friendship you soon realized that the man felt the same. The smile he gave you as you spoke was enough of an answer, but as the semester ended he had also warmed up to the class, enough for them to feel more comfortable around him and in class while also retaining his authority and usual strictness. And you were proud that the man had come out of his shell a bit after you opened yourself up to him, and that he seemed to relax more when there was just the two of you in his office. Quips and chuckles animating your sessions along with the usual passionate ramblings as you both discussed the latest book he had recommended. You noticed that all of them had been more or less about freedom, about learning from the past, about façades, loving yourself and letting go of what hurts you that has come from something in the past. And as time went, the tomes picked were more and more complex, philosophical or niche, and you couldn't help but be thankful. He was in his way caring for you, but also furthering your knowledge and passion, and although it had started as an indulgence for him, you've come to notice that he was learning as much as you were and also letting his own façade slip more and more. His excitement palpable at times, his lips slipping into a smile unknowingly to him, coffees set up for you both as you arrived in his office, more cigarettes were shared between passionate discussions, and your time in his office stretching to way past his schedule.

As finals arrived, you worked the hardest you had, in both his class and the other ones you had. Your newly made friends and you creating study groups and dedicating certain hours in your days to revise lessons, check assignments and redo certain exercises while sharing thoughts, laughter and hot coffees. Your life finally felt like it clicked into place as you looked at the small group, as you thought about your life here at Zaun Tech, and it was all due to Mr.Marlowe. Your teacher, the first person to care about who you truly were beyond the carefully crafted civilized façade, your first friend; and you could never thank him enough for all that he has done for and brought to you. So, in a way, as you study for his part of the finals, you push yourself into understanding everything, remembering your one on one sessions, determined to ace the paper to make him proud.

You had quickly noticed how you preened at his praise, at his attention and under his observant gaze. And you understood that it was because of your own past, forged in the flames of hell by the unfeeling, unyielding Noxian frenzy, vision and ears filled with the corpses and screams of the damned that you had sent there. His presence and words were validating you in a way no one since your youth had, and long past were the years of peace your toddler self lived through. He was giving you the care you were violently ripped from, and you searched for no more than that. Your budding friendship was only a normal evolution from this care and your shared passion over the literary arts. But it was the most treasured thing you possessed, albeit immaterial, you would always keep it near and dear, tucked within the small part of your heart that wasn't marred with scars of the past, charred with hatred and pain unconcievable to most.

The day of the finals, the members of your group of friends bid each other good luck with pats on the back and hugs, skipping you. You had mentionned to them physical contact was not to be initiated with you if it was on your back or if you couldn't see it, so instead they'd hold your hands tight, kissing the back of them, crossing pinkies and forming handshakes. They never asked why, and you couldn't be anymore grateful to have such an understanding little band. As you walk to your seat you turn to Mr.Marlowe, stopping to nod at him.

"Good luck, I know you'll do great."

Is all that he says with a nod back at you, but his eye is much less restrained, the cold yet welcoming and comforting familiar shade of teal softened by the golden sunlight. Deep within them you could read a letter to you, proclaiming that you would do amazingly yes, but also that you had nothing to fear, that he was proud you made it this far, that he was proud of you, and proud of knowing you. That this friendship meant as much to him as it did to you. It almost brought tears to your eyes, looking down to escape the intensity of his watchful gaze as your face warmed up.

"I'll make you proud."

Is what you utter with a small smile, eyes loking into his, trying to show the same amount of emotion as him, gaze telling him that you'd show him just how much you cared by aceing whatever he threw at you today, that you'd use all the knowledge obtained and utilize the burning passion that you both stoked as time passed and friendship grew. And with a last nod you understood, you always do, was what he meant to say. So with strengthened resolve you get to your seat, crutch laid on the ground bag opened to retrieve a single pencil case, and after the class was full and ready, the timer for four hours started, and you started writing. Your eyes reading over each question on each page at least twice before your pen was gliding, tainting the white paper under each carefully written questions with your own cursive. Your words thought of for minutes as you formulated coherent and meaningful responses to each inquiry, using all you'd learned alone, with your group or with Mr.Marlowe, your answers long and detailed yet never veering off the path until you arrived at the last question, a small essay about the book you had preferred in the semester. Although the books you worked on in class were great, you knew somehow that you could use one of the many books you had discussed during office hours, and those being your actual favourites, the choice was easy. Picking Crime and Punishment you quickly make a plan on what to say on a piece of paper on the side, then describe Raskolnikov, his life, his mentality, his relationship to all of those around him; you dive deep in his actions and thoughts, into his philosophy, to explore the themes of nihilism, utilitarianism and rationalism lying beneath the surface of each carefully written page. Even using movies and a theater representation you had seen as help to describe visuals, mannerisms and aesthetics, albeit mentionning that those are simply the producers' visions and not Dostoevsky's, using your own thoughts to conclude the lengthy analysis.

Looking up at the ticking clock, five minutes were left out of the four hours, and no one but you was left in the amphitheater. And while you took around half an hour to complete the basic questions writing your essay had taken over three hours, but it didn't matter to you as you were proud of it. And by the way Mr.Marlowe looked as he skimmed through your paper as you handed it back to him, so was he. But when you went to say your goodbyes, wishing him good holidays, he handed you a paper, small and folded that his teal eye emphasized on, regarding it as important.

"I have something to gift you, sir."

"Is that so? Then you might as well look at the paper."

He answers back, your name slipping softly from his lips as his lips stretched into a soft smile, one that you've learnt was only reserved to you on campus. And it felt amazing, to be given such a rare thing, such a precious thing, a part of him almost no one knew about, so you basked in the warmth of it, in the cool water bathing you in his iris, appreciating the soft crows feet softening his sharp gaze and the gentle flutter of his lashes as they kissed his cheek everytime it closed. You must have looked quite dumbfounded as you opened the paper, revealing a phone number, his phone number, because the soft rumble of his chuckle was heard in the empty room and your eyes lifted to his as a smile broke out on your face. It was soft, but one of the biggest and brightest you have produced since arriving in Zaun, you had already a few phone numbers, those being your three friends', but never did you expect to have Mr.Marlowe; and it meant so much more than any words could describe. Entering it quickly you send a rushed "Hello it's me" message before opening your messenger bag, producing a neatly wrapped, thick rectangle from it and handing it to your dear friend.

"I've learnt a few years ago that it's apparently a tradition to give gifts, my other friends and I gave each other some, but I also wanted to offer you something. I hope you like it, sir."

Your smile grows more shy as your eyes look down, hands wrung together while the sound of ripping paper echoes within the empty room and a pleased hum follows it. Looking up at the man behind the desk again, you find him with a smile equal to the one you harbored just before and your own stretches to match it. You had gotten him Nightwood by Djurna Barnes, a book he had quickly mentionned he wished to read but had never gotten around to, and by the way his hands gently cradled the tome, you knew you had picked the perfect gift for him, something that proved just how you hung onto his every words and drank them in, no matter how trivial they could be.

"You remembered." His voice softly uttered as his thumbs caressed the book cover, and he places the object in his backpack as softly as possible, between his laptop and a binder to keep it safe, but his hand dug deeper in another part of the bag. When he was done, his hand came out holding a rectangular package, not dissimilar to yours yet it looked thicker on the sides, as if there was more than just one object in the delicately wrapped gift, a soft ribbon bow decorating the top. You freeze, smile softening yet again, as do your eyes, your face ever changing like the reflections of the sun on softly rippling waters. You hadn't expected him to get you a gift, yet as he tilts his head invitingly you believe you should've, he cared for you as much as you did for him yet you ever expected nearly as much energy to be spent on you although yours is extensively spent on him.

"Go on, open it."

His voice coaxed, and as always your body obeyed, even after you befriended him he still had that effect on you, yet if felt less commandeering rather more as if he held your hand and bought you along, although his influence was still terrifying. But as you opened the gift you couldn't help the soft tears escaping your eyes, trails of salt water carving your cheeks in what were the first joyful tears of your life, not sobs of stress, pain, fear, rage or anguish, no they were something you only knew of through fiction. And he was the reason for them. Taking the wrapping paper away you take each element of the gift, analyzing them. You had been right in saying it is composed of multiple objects, you have been given a fancy fountain pen, colored in his usual maroon, black and gold, and ink cartridges. But also a copy of Paradise Lost by John Milton, and a leather notebook embossed with details and closed with a string, it looked handmade and opening it you see that the pages are held not by a usual binding but a spiral.

"Like that you can keep it, you won't need to buy new ones all the time, you only need to take away the old pages and add new ones."

His soft voice echoes and after a moment where your hands gently brushed the cover and your lower lip shaked, you breathe out heavily, putting the gifts in your bag carefully before you reach for his hands and hold them tight. And as he looks at you, eye wide as his smile softens and his gaze and face grow even more gentle, you know that he understands. You may not be able to hold him, but the weight of your hands in his and their gentle tightness is akin to a last goodbye as a wife claws at her lover unwilling to let him go as he is called for war, that small gesture of holding his hands you both know is your own way of embracing him. Embracing him tight enough that your back would hurt, but you wouldn't mind, not with him, never with him, not when all he has ever been was good to you. And with a last nod you let go, shaky breath muffled by your hands wiping the crystal trails shimmering on your face, and with one last look and smile you leave.

"Have a good break."

"You too sir."

No thanks are exchanged, but from the air permeating the room both of you knew the importance of the moment you had shared. And you remembered that moment during the whole of your holidays, some days spent alone in your dorm reading the book you were gifted, writing in your new notebook with your fancy new pen and as ink flowed, the stuttering of your heart grew. You chalked it up at those being such thoughtful gifts like those your other friends gave you, you felt warm when you used the keys to your room too, a matching keychain with your group holding them together, when you wore your new cardigan or slipped on the pretty bracelet. Yet the feeling ran deeper, was warmer when you used the gifts Mr.Marlowe left you, they made your vision cloudy with an unshed torrent of tears, your lips always stretching in a smile you never thought you could produce. It was scary, feeling so deeply for someone who could control you with the flick of his wrist, with a single word uttered from his lips, but what was scarier was that you found yourself minding more the fact that he had all this power over you and knew it, but still chose to be nothing but sweet and gentle to you.

Although you loved your friends and your friends loved you, Mr.Marlowe's friendship had a layer of uncertain feelings that swirled in your mind and choked you up when you let yourself think too deeply of him. Maybe it was simply because he was the first to ever care for you this much? That had to be it.

To your surprise though many days during the holidays were spent with your friends, shopping, warming yourselves in homely cafés, playing and watching movies at their places and meeting their families. You had been too shy to text Mr.Marlowe after leaving his class, not wanting to bother his time with his family. Although on Christmas Eve, as you also celebrated aceing your tests with your friends, you decided to steel your resolve and write him a short sweet message.

-Hello Mr.Marlowe, I hope your holidays are going great. Merry Christmas to you and your family! Take care and have fun. I know I will.-

Attached to it was a picture of you and your three friends smiling brightly, your clothes fitting your style yet adapted to the festive atmosphere, a reindeed hairband on top of your head, your thicker body warm and well dressed while surrounded by your friends one lanky and fluffy haired, one tall and strong, one darker skinned with her curly hair undone from its usual bun. And while you pondered a long time if that was breaching some untold boundary, you weren't left wondering for long.

-Hello to you too, my holidays are going pretty well and as I can see that so are yours. I'm very glad. Merry Christmas to you too, have fun and don't drink too much. Good job on your finals, I knew you could do it.-

Was what he had said, a picture of him in a more relaxed maroon sweater above a black dress shirt with both sleeves dragged up to his elbow, showcasing tattoos you've never noticed before, and usual black slacks and dress shoes were donned and he didn't wear his eyepatch. Next to him was a brightly smiling blue haired girl, sandwiched between a boyish pink haired teen aswell as Mr.Marlowe, the pink haired girl holding the phone up as she threw a peace sign around the toddler's shoulders while she smirked. To the man's other side were two boys, both brown haired, but one was thin and angular and the other taller and thicker, softer features displayed on him. Mr.Marlowe himself looked as suprised as one can expect him to look, but the softness in his smile and gaze was enough to make you sigh out a laugh. So these kids were his family then? You thought with a laugh as you shoved your phone in your coat pocket for the night, letting the others take pictures as you enjoyed your very first Christmas, surrounded by people you love.

For New Years you had decided with your friends to set off fireworks at the beach bordering River Pilt, a picnic set on the towel covered sand while you four were huddled up under fleece blankets, eating, drinking, laughing and talking until the alarm you had set rang and they set off to prepare the fireworks, the bottle of champaigne all of you saved up until now was finally out ofthe basket with four plastic flutes. But as you go to help with the festive display your phone rings, confused you excuse yourself and find yourself surprised at seeing the caller ID as Mr.Marlowe's.

"Hello, sir! How are you?"

"I'm doing well, today was rather calm for me, the kids have all gone to their friends' houses for the weekend."

You can't rail in the giggle escaping you fast enough at his dejected tone, the cold breeze caressing you as you huddled up in your fleece. He had never mentionned or showed you his children before the holidays, but being allowed past that boundary and seeing a glimpse of his private life, as well as how he was towards his children, was positively riveting.

"Come on now, you can't be spending your New Years alone now can you sir?"

"I can and I am." He sighs. "It sounds like you're not alone though."

"Yes, we're at the beach. Had a picnic dinner and now we're setting up fireworks. Well they are."

"Would you rather join them?" His voice is lower and you can't help the twinge in your heart at what felt like an all too familiar loneliness permeating his tone.

"No, they've got it covered. Plus I'm glad to spend a bit of that time with you, so don't worry. I won't lie that I've missed you during the holidays sir, as preoccupied as I have mostly been, your presence is still one I seek above all." I huff out a small laugh. "Sorry, festivities have me feeling sappy, I suppose. Don't mind me."

A small silence stretches before you hear three clinks, glass on glass, then the sound of a liquid filling a receptacle.

"I've missed you too" He says after a while. "I've already finished reading your gift, and am currently reading it again. Perhaps I should be the one offering you a thorough analysis next time we're in my office?" His voice is teasing and soft and you can imagine the look in his eye as he says those words, narrowed, crows feet framing the outside of his eye as his brows lift and his lips shift into a smirk.

"I'll be expecting great things Mr.Marlowe."

"I hope I won't disappoint."

"I don't think you ever could." Your words echo back to the last ones he's said to you after your first meeting in his office, and as a soft hum escapes him you know he remembers that day as much as you. While you were getting lost in thought your friends yelled a countdown, lighting the fireworks. And as they reach zero, a resounding whistling echoes, your three friends yelling Happy New Year in unison before the sky lit up with a succession of crackles and explosions.

"Happy New Year, darling."

Your heart flipped, his voice louder than all of the excitement surrounding you, your knees growing weak at the affectionate name, your voice breathless as you answer him, the man closing the call after your words were softly uttered.

"Happy New Year to you too, sir."

The rest of your holidays went without a hitch, the remainder of New Years spent lighting more fireworks, drinking champaigne and and having a good time until you went back home, while the last few days were spent warmly at home, pondering the petname Mr.Marlowe had used, and how it made you feel. You heard friends using nicknames and petnames on each other all the time, your messy whirlwind of feelings was probably due to this being the first time you were called by a name other than your own, "soldier", or "girl" by the rich Noxian nobles.

The biting Zaunite winter cold had made it harder on you, your ankle hurting and stiff, your back feeling brittle and stretched thin, but when the elevator to your dorms stopped working in the last few days leading up to back to class, you had to take the stairs. The cold and the growing strain making your strength waver on the Sunday and having you drop down half a flight of stairs and vibrant, searing hot pain ran through your body like River Pilt between the canyons of Zaun. And as you crawled back to your dorm, you dreaded the next day.

Pain burnt through you as you woke up, the elevator finally repaired but your fall from the previous day forcing you to take your wheelchair. Panicking as although you left earlier than usual, knowing your condition would have you take even longer than usual, you were still late. The campus not at all made for wheelchair users and disabled people in general. And while it was usually annoying, your anger was only a simmer while now it was boiling over. Holding back tears of frustration for your condition and shame at your tardiness, you finally make it to the building. The door to the class hard to open when every movement spelled out agony for you, you decide to send a message to Mr.Marlowe in hopes that even if the class had started nearly half an hour ago, you could get him to open the door. And after sending the message and shoving your phone back in your coat you were surprised to see the door open, Mr.Marlowe confused at first then his face fell, the usual controlled façade slipping as he observes your sitting form, face twisted in silent pain. He looked pained for you at first, opening the door wide for you to roll in. Then as you set yourself up at your table slowly, you look at him, his discomfort at your condition morphed to silent anger, his eye narrowed sharply, his eyebrows furrowd, his lips in a snarl. You heard the whispers, saying they hoped you wouldn't get scolded too hard, and you wished the same too. But when the class ended and as you waited for all the students to filter out, papers were put on your table gently. Looking up to see Mr.Marlowe he leans on the hands he disposed on your desk.

"What happened?" His voice asked softly.

"I fell down, sir. The elevator at my dorm was broken up until yesterday left afternoon so i've had to climb up and down the stairs, I just fell. I'll be fine soon don't worry, I'm sorry for being late. It's just that a lot of the campus is gravel paths and grass, and many stairs don't have a slope for wheelchairs." You say, voice rushed and meek at the thought of upsetting him.

"I don't care how long you take to heal." His voice mutters harshly before his hands find yours, a sigh escaping his lips as if hurried, like he was a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. "You should've told me, I could have helped."

"But-" He shushes you, I didn't wanna bother you, almost escaping your lips. "You wouldn't have bothered me. I'll bring you to whichever classes i have a free schedule for, for as long as you need your wheelchair. I don't want to hear you refuse."

You purse your lips, eyes looking into his. He looked positively pissed, yet not at you and you knew that as he muttered about how the campus should have been made with injured and disabled people in mind but that of course since a Piltovan was the architect, they'd forgone such accessibility. He paced as his hands ranked through his hair, messing it up more than it fixed it.

"As a veteran you'd think people would care more about disabilities when you've seen your fair share of comrades come out of war missing limbs and organs if they were alive at all." Is grumbled as he gently assembled your notes in your filer, closing your notebook and filling your pencil case with the stationary set on the desk before putting everything back in your bag. "Let me help please." It was a statement and not a question, he didn't seek for you to accept his request but to understand his intentions, and as always with him you couldn't say no. Your body nodding before your mind had time to fully register the words escaping your friend's mouth.

And help he did, on mornings and afternoons, between his classes and during his empty office hours, your friends helping in early mornings and late afternoons as your schedule differed the most with Mr.Marlowe's around these times. Sometimes he'd even have a coffee ready, a pastry snaked in your hand before a pain killer followed suit. And for the duration of the two weeks it took you to recover from your fall, the cold striking your hurting body and keeping it from recovering as fast, he continued. Steadfast in hisgentle kindness, occupying your journies with usual book talks, angry ramblings about the ZTC's despicable accesibility measures, and other yet friendlier topics. It was so strange, albeit always kind to you he was never usually doting, he had a reputation as a strict yet kind and passionate teacher and he wished to keep it. But as soon as he saw you in that wheelchair it's like it flipped a switch in his mind, he cared not for maintaining his façade anymore not even when all stares were turned to the both of you talking as he wheeled you across buildings or even the campus to your next course. It made this strange new feeling blossom in your chest again, bigger, brighter and warmer, like a hearth's fire, his care acting as a fuel to the flame. The more you thought about it the more you were reminded of his nickname for you on New Years, of all the moments you had shared of his office, of all the kindness and care he offered you, about how this feeling was the one you experienced now everyday as you used his fountain pen and notebook. It was a mess, and the more you looked at it, the more you feared for yourself as a name of a feeling you knew about flickered in and out of vision whenever you thought of Mr.Marlowe, of your friend. You didn't dare even think of it, erasing it from your mind as soon as its shadow appeared in your peripherals. You didn't dare to even think of thinking about it. He was your friend, your dearest friend, and all you were feeling was simply the gratitude for such steadfast support and care, at least that's what you told yourself everytime you looked at him. The small mantra taking more and more space in your days as the parasitic thought of the feeling you'd rather not name made itself more known in Mr.Marlowe's presence, which became a constant daily occurence and plunged you deeper into the avoidance of your own betraying feelings.

On the second Friday you recieve a message from the man.

-I appologize but I might be late to our usual meeting as I will be with the board that afternoon, I will leave my office key at the reception so just give them your name and they'll hand it to you. Get comfortable in the office, I hope you use the couch for a more comfortable position. I'll see you later.-

And your heart soared as it now did everytime he displayed such gentleness and thoughtfulness. Your ideas mixing and swirling like watercolor paint in a mug of water after the artist has washed his brush. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, steadying yourself as you thank him for the heads up and get ready for the day, which thankfully went by fast with the only class you had being at the end of the morning. Later on around 5 p.m you arrive at the administrative building, telling your name to the receptionist and obtaining the key to Mr.Marlowe's office to which to glided to quite easily due to the smooth floors, setting yourself on the plush yet ornate couch, your thick thighs and hips taking up the entirety of the space as you laid down, head resting on a pillow propped up against the couch's arm. Music had been blasting in your earphones for a good 30 minutes before the door opened to your friend's svelte form, and taking away your earphones he raises his hand to signal at you to not get up while he went to get one of the chairs in front of his desk, picking the left one which you usually use.

"What happened?" Your voice softly called out as he snipped the tip of a cigar, lighting it and inhaling the smoke right after, his tense body relaxing as he blows it out.

"I went to talk to the board about the lack of accessibility and of notice when amenities such as elevators stop functionning. It's a lack of respect and consideration to left such things happen and I am quite sure I drove the point home enough for them to understand." He sighs, one arm draped over the back of the seat, his other hand raking through his messy hair while the cigar was held between his lips as he took a mouthful of smoke, legs spread comfortably. Deep down, you chastise yourself for admiring Mr.Marlowe, not only was he about twice your age, but he was also your teacher, and your friend, your inner pit of vipers hisses at you. It felt shameful and disrespectful to rake your eyes like that over a man that doted on and cared for you, you'd call it blasphemous if you believed in any of the deities of Runeterra. And with how your dear friend permeated more and more of your mind, the idea of sending yourself on a pilgrimage to Mount Targon sounded better by the second, wheelchair, crutch or not, you'd even consider crawling to it by this point.

While you admonished yourself in your own head Mr.Marlowe had set a cup of hot cocoa in front of you, his own held in the hand draped over the back of his chair as his eyes looked at you in concern, your lack of response probably taken as some sort of silent treatment.

"Thank you sir, it's still hard to grasp how good you are to me so sometimes my brain just sort of restarts." You sigh, speaking a half truth obscuring the growing, terrifying notion growing within you. "I know we're friends but the kindness, the doting and the gentleness is still very new to me." You mull over the next words before sighing. "And you know I'd do the same on my side if I could."

His restless face melts into a smile, the tension all but disappearing as he relaxes and gets up from the chair, walking to his desk to stub his cigar in his ashtray and retrieve a notebook that he opens as he sets himself next to you on the couch, lifting your legs gently to set them on his lap.

"I said I'd take over today's note reading, didn't I? Would it be fine we you if we started now?" He smiles gently at you, one arm propped over the back of the couch while his hand kept the book open, the other one gently massaging your leg. And you nod, once more unable to resist his request, drinking in every words spilling from his lips like a wanderer who found an oasis in the deepest recesses of the Shuriman desert. Every word uttered flowing from him as he looked from the book to you, then back to his notes, the rumble of his voice like rolling thunder in the distance, similar to a war drum, commanding attention. When he talked, it was always as if all the oxygen in the room emanated from him, like he was a black hole sucking all of the attention, the cadence, tone and words he spoke like a spell emptying the mind of anything but him.

Him with his manicured style, always in clothes not dissimilar to a suit, hair like a raven's feathers softly powdered with snow, arms hidden behind sleeves hiding skin deep ink that wrapped around him in delicate and artful tendrils. Him with the gravelly voice, bitter and strong like coffee yet always softened with milk and caramel when it came to you. Him with a passion for literature rivalling Noxus' thirst for war and conquest. Him who was cold and distant, building walls around his heart similarly to you, yet just like you letting them crumble down in your presence. Him who smelled of tobacco, coffee, a woodsy cologne and cloves. Him who offered you the most gentle of looks, soft as silk, the sweetest of smiles, sugary and slow like a drizzle of pure honey, the cold tumultuous ocean of his teal eye always warm and calm as he basked in your presence. Him who could control you like a puppet on a string, like a soldier and her commanding officer, yet only ever used his power to have you care for yourself and to care for you himself, softly and gently loving you more than you could have hoped for anyone to do. Him who somehow always knew when something was wrong or amiss and wordlessly brought you back to him, plunging in the abyss of your heart and mind to retrieve you from the voices and the visions, from the clawing of the damned and the hissing venomous vipers. Him who currently caresses your pained leg so gently as he talks about his thoughts and theories he had while reading your gift, in great detail.

Him who you loved.

And your heart panged as his voice grew more delighted at his letters, your mind fractured as one half engraved his words in your soul and the other screamed in anguish.

You had fallen in love.

The one thing the books you read described as the sweetest, truest of feelings. Pure, romantic love, a seed planted on the very first day you met, watered in the care and hard work both of you put into your companionship, now grown and blooming within your heart and lungs. Twisting around your nerves to send shivers through your body, blossoms filling your psyche with their entrancing words of encouragement and their bitter woeful mockery. But to you it wasn't beautiful, not at the moment, it was panic enducing, it was making every breath feel like a lungful of gasoline, mouth dry and pasty as your eyes stung. Mr.Marlowe had placed his trust, his mentorship, his friendship, in the palm of your hands and you had crumpled it unknowingly. Letting yourself love someone in this way could ruin you, and all of a sudden all of the thoughts and feelings growing louder in your mind as of late make sense. And it was not necessarily wrong you knew that, it was normal for people to fall in love, it was normal for someone like you so hurt and broken, to fall for someone who cares for them in the way Mr.Marlowe cared for you.

But by the Gods it was terrifying. He always had power over you, words capable of stopping you in your tracks, of making you obey any and all requestions, and as your feelings grew beneath the cracked surface of the barren, cold fields of your heart, left burnt and bloodied by war; so did the power of his voice. Bringing forth feelings you never thought yourself capable of having, pulling you deeper beneath the teal waters and raging infernos of his eyes. Each interraction destoying you and building you back up, as if he were a toymaker and you were his little wooden soldier.

And as terrifying as it was, you loved it.

You knew it was wrong to love your teacher, you've learned of that from gossip between your friends, because it was a conflict of interest. A teacher graded your papers and had authority over you, which could mean you could be coaxed into submission or use your relation as a way to gain extra points even if they were undeserved, and that was wrong. That much you knew. But as someone who never truly dealt with an academy setting, it wasn't what mattered the most to you. No what mattered was that you felt like you had betrayed your friend's trust my biting off way more than you could chew, feeling like you were stealing his integrity from him. But also because you knew, although not much was shared about your pasts, that he was a veteran, a high ranking one at that. Which explained a bit of how his demands and inquiries were immediately taken into account and executed by you. But it also meant that you, as a lower ranked militia officer, you'd have to deal with death penalty, at least that's how it was in Noxus. Visions of lovers butchered in front of the platoons and units, your squad always standing at the forefront of the disgustingly horrifying spectacle even as a child. It didn't feel wrong because of societal standards, although you tried to fit in and respect them, no it felt wrong because to you love had always spelled out death.

And as you return home, Mr.Marlowe wheeling you pack to the elevator in your building, and close the front door to your dorm, you break down. It felt like even if you weren't in Noxus anymore, falling in love would take away all that you had spilt blood sweat and tears for and built this semester, take away what you had with the man who you felt for so deeply, that it'd be the death of you.

And with how your lungs burned, how your body ache and how your heart screamed in agony, it might as well have been.

prev || m.list || next

[life-winners-liveblog]

If there is more than one scar are they all watchers?

****

[tonycries]

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

Synopsis. Don’t worry, he knows exactly the solution when you’re upset - fúck it out of you, of course!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, FÉRAL GOJO, cheering you up, oraI (fem receiving), breéding, MAJOR overstím, PRAISE, THEY’RE SO DOWN BAD, lowkey sweet, slight exhíbitionism (Toji’s), mean Geto, síxty-nine, chokíng, making Choso cry mhm, spítting, pússy-slappíng, cúmplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. You’re loved n’ I hope y’all have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Noise complaint(s)

Any time Toji decided to visit you in your cute lil’ apartment, so did a few complaints from your neighbors. 

It wasn’t because of his intimidating presence, or those deadly glares of his - targeted at everyone but you, or even because of the way his large frame unapologetically blocked every doorway in your building.

No, they were noise complaints. 

“So that’s what’s got my girl so mm- upset?” Toji has the audacity to chuckle - chuckle - so raggedly at that syrupy pout of yours he’s kissing away. “Usually you and this sweet pussy-” He cups a palm at your glistening cunt, smearing your sweet, sweet juices in a glossy sheen down his wrist. “-are so happy to see me, n’ now you want to keep her quiet? All because some blue-balled loser just moved in next door and got jealous overhearing your pretty moans?”

At your nervous nod, he clicks his tongue gruffly, “Makin’ you all upset like this, tch-” Leaning down to whisper, until his sharp canines graze dangerously against your earlobe, “He’s about to find out that he hasn’t heard even half of it.”

“But Toji!” you’re squealing, fingers scrambling to clamp your already-deliriously sagging mouth shut. “I told you- we have to mmpf- be quiet. He seemed so grumpy, and-”

You’re being cut off with Toji nudging the divot of his fat head against your g-spot, until all those complaints are lodged in your quivering chest by a moan. Teasing, “Talking ‘bout another man when m’trynna make you feel better, doll? Bold today, aren’t ya?”

“N-no I was jus-” Barely-audible babbles drag out of you at the heavenly stretch of your pussy lips. Toji’s muscled chest heaves up and down at the way your pussy lips addictively swallow up his leaky cock, slobbering down, down, down his length till it glistened in the dim lighting. Your legs kicking up in the air when he insistently feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch. 

Again. And again and again and so needy. Depraved. 

But it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Aww, come on, woman.” He’s rolling his eyes, that tiny scar curling up in a devilish grin when he pries away the hand on your mouth. “Why’re you lyin’ to yourself like this? I know you wanna heh- scream my name as much as this cute cunt of yours is right now. Do it.”

As if to confirm his point, Toji’s pushing apart your puffy folds to let your gaping pussy squelch! even louder at each of his bullying thrusts. Tight ring of muscle taking each and every smack of his sharp hip bones so well, the riotous creaking of your bed following shortly, headboard just slamming into your poor wall despite being bolted onto it.

It was already so loud. 

“I don’t hngh-” you let out a feverish gasp when each roll of his hypnotic cadence gets too much. “I don’t wanna give off a b-bad impression…I just want the neighbors to like me.”

Heart clenching in his chest at how cute you are, how sorry your voice sounds, he finds his irritation flaring once again at whoever this bastard was that had you doubting yourself this way.

“Doll– they’d be fuckin’ stupid not to. And I’d beat their asses, too.” Two soft pads of his fingers come to smush your cheeks together, forcing you to stare up into his darkened emerald eyes. “But my poor baby’s still ngh- upset, no?” When you’re hesitant with your answer, they slide down to your neck - just barely putting a bit of leering pressure, “Answer me while m’still being nice, doll.”

It’s all you can do to choke out a shrill, “Yes.” He can feel your walls clenching around every ridge and prominent vein down his shaft so tight with every sultry, mewled-out word. “H-he was really sweet! But it made me- a bit- jus’ a bit.”

“See?” And Toji sounds so smug, predatory tone bleeding into the way his harsh rams pick up to an obscene speed. A thumb of his dips down to swivel over your neglected clit, wrenching out those candied moans he loves so much. “Nothin’ wrong with makin’ my girl feel better after a shitty experience. N’ if anyone has anything to s-say, they can come complain to hngh- me.”

“B-but-”

“Ah ah-” Toji kisses sloppily at your lips trying to press together and quieten, sucking on your lower lip. “What did I say just now? Loud, pretty girl.” 

And it’s like a dam breaks open right then and there, you’re arching your body off the bed like such a slut to press your bare tits against Toji’s pecs. Sensitive. Faster. “Toji- oh fuck, m’so-”

“Heh, louder. I don’t hear you losing your beautiful voice yet.”

Keening, “M’so close. Fuck- g-gonna cum all over your cock.”

He’s cupping his ear so mockingly, hips still stuttering and thrusting forwards without a moments’ faltering. “Still can’t hear you, m-ah not gonna let you cum if you’re not loud enough, y’know.”

You were sure your sinful noises were traveling through the heavy, plastered wall now. Picking up in pitch and speed with every double-attack on your sweet spots everywhere. Spearing the lewd curve of his dick into you, he’s fucking you into the mattress so mean - meaner that usual. Rugged muscles of his toned waist flexing when he jostles and thrusts unforgivingly. Your voice is hoarse at this point, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck Toji m’cumming. I’m-”

Every other loud moan is drowned out by the ringing in your ears, Toji’s own soft rasps filtering through the white-hot pleasure running down your spine. 

He’s fucking you through wave after wave of high, gifting your bruised g-spot with a thorough, sly pistons of his still-swollen cock. Something that didn’t bode well for you, you already knew. 

“Tha’s it. Yeahh, that’s it-” A hand cups the back of your head gently, even though his slamming staccato was anything but. “Loud. Jus’ like that- shit, gonna make him jealous. Have him regret makin’ my girl upset, fuck-” An irritated banging sounds from the other side of the wall right above your headboard - your neighbor. “Fuck, just watch I’ll give him a real show.” Still throwing jagged hips your way, ram after ram. “What’s the fucker’s name again?”

“He- he said his name was Shiu.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Sweet, sweet treat

“I can fix it.” your husband eyed that droopy bowl of frosting and back to your candied, icing-glossed pout. He can’t help but plant a sweet, sweltering kiss on them, just groaning out, “We can do it together.” Barely managing to break away and breathe out, “S’gonna- turn out- perfect, my love.”

Which is how you find yourself splayed out so shamefully on the cool granite countertops of your kitchen, your soft cotton dress only pulled lazily to the side. Nanami’s knees seated firmly on the hardwood floors, face tucked in between the heavenly sweet folds of your already soaked cunt. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Ken–” he makes you let out a honeyed drawl with every drag of his hot tongue up and down your soppingly wet slit. “Y-you’re gonna get the- ngh- counter dirty!”

So what? He thinks, and it only takes a flicker of surprise in your half-lidded eyes for him to realize he accidentally said that out loud. Not used to those uncharacteristically brash sentences, but Nanami was so drunk off your addictive juices right now. 

Tipping his head back, back, back to let them make their slow, sultry journey down his throat. He’s slurring out proudly, “I’ll clean the mess after I cheer up my upset lil’ wife, okay?”

With this, he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Adding to the glistening gloss that traveled down your folds - and Nanami couldn’t help himself but kiss at the mess he’s made. Over and over and-

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that-” You’re keening when he’s alternating between hollowing his cheeks out with methodical, never-ending sucks on your sensitive clit and just peeking inside your needy hole with his tongue. “You’re too good with your hngh! -tongue, Ken–”

It’s impossible to run away - and he knew that, too. Every little inch you backed on the counter had him just dragging you back twice as much. Hot tongue clashing and angry to part your swollen pussy lips. 

You can only thread your fingers through his neat blond hair even tighter when he surges back forward. Pussydrunk. Groaning at the lewd smack of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds, Thumb circling around your throbbing clit, “And you’re too sweet, darling. Even sweeter than-” He pools your slick on two thick fingers of his, coating a glossy sheen of obscenity all the way from his rounded tips to the gold wedding ring glinting in the dim light. Before popping them in his mouth to take such long, cleansing drags without even a shred of abashed hesitation, “-that icing of yours.”

“I know–” you’re babbling in disappointment, the full force of your failed attempts at baking something special earlier this evening hitting you once again at full force. “Ugh, what a waste. I can’t even-”

A syrupy beat passes. One. Two. 

And at that very moment, you’re feeling the maddening stretching of your gummy walls being forced to their very limits. Whirling your dazed gaze down to spot that Nanami was now standing, belt unbuckled, tugged down just enough that you were reeling from the pressure of his fat head just barely kissing past your fluttering hole. 

“That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.” he growls, low and satiny. Hands steadying on the two sides of your trembling thighs, his grunts catch in his throat when he thoroughly sinks his swollen length in. Never-ending, dizzying. A quick frosting-coated glide of Nanami’s fingers on your lips, and he’s pressing another lingering kiss on your slack mouth. Tasting you and the sweet icing and you, “And I don’t let anyone talk about her that way, my love.”

Now, usually, Nanami was a man of patience - liking to prepare and play around with your pretty pussy as if you were his favorite toy. Molding your plush walls like clay to take his massive cock.

But now, oh now Nanami Kento was anything but patient. Shit, he didn’t even know if your snug walls could take him right now. 

Hands curling up into painful fists far away from the curve of your hips, as if he was trying to stop himself from just grabbing your quivering body and just slamming himself inside you until he reached your lungs, your heart, that stupid brain of yours that loved to overthink.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ say anything bad about my wife. You’re perfect.” he breathes, greedy hazel eyes looking like they could devour you whole. “The frosting is perfect, the anniversary cake is perfect, your smile, your mind, you-” You’re being attacked by a flurry of kisses being gifted on every inch of your face that could be reached, “You you you- I love you.”

If you were in the right state of mind, you’d have responded back in a heartbeat. But right now, he’s not waiting a split-second longer before bullying the rest of his swollen, filthy cock in. Solid inches being shoved inside to force your walls to accommodate, stretching out so maddeningly across every divot and upwards curve down his shaft.

In and out in and out in and-

Your nails tear across his favorite blue button-up, down his muscled shoulders, down to that speckled yellow tie you’d gotten him a few years ago. 

“You’re so- hngh-” you squeal, tugging Nanami closer by his tie. Making him bully past your narrow opening even deeper, slick walls squeezing so tight at how his weepy red tip presses right on top of your g-spot. 

He chuckles, it’s so endearing how you’re already too cockdrunk to speak. One engulfing hand on your shoulder is all it takes for you to be sprawled back on the cool counter. Nanami’s pummeling cock bullying so deep inside your hot core it’s the only thing you can think about - nothing but him. 

“How about, after-” Another dredge of sweet sweet frosting is dabbed along your lips, your heated skin. All for Nanami to lick sultrily, “-we’ll make the cake together, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just use me, baby.”

Those shallow, sultry words are falling from Choso’s rosy lips before he even realizes it - ringing like sheer melodies over the heady smacking of skin-on-skin where he’s bullying his fat cock into you. 

After a few seconds of his sloppy, stuttering rams sending the gooey puddle of cum and slick spreading further and further on the sticky, silken sheets below you - the words finally register. 

“Use you, baby?” you purr, batting your lashes in a way that has him gulping. Feeling his aching shaft twitch against your gummy walls, swollen balls squeezing so so angrily with how much seed he’d been gushing out tonight. “You want me to use you?”

Each thrust of his is lingering, rolling forwards to push you further and further up that pooling mess. He can’t think, he can’t even breathe. And it takes everything in Choso to groan out, “Yes yes- fuck, please.” You’re feeling him place a trail of wet kisses up to the nape of your neck, big tears clinging to his dark lashes, “If my- hngh- if my girl is upset, I want her to use me. Ruin me till she forgets all about it.”

It only takes a split-second for you to immediately flip around your positions, pinning a whiny, pliant Choso so harshly down onto the plush mattress. 

“Hngh- oh, baby—” He bounces slightly at the sheer force. Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slobbering sheen of cum dripping down his long, long length. Bucking up his quivering hips till you’re speared all the way down on his cock, clit hitting the tufts of black at his thick hilt. “Fuuuck—.” He’s groaning raggedly, like a mantra, two big arms tugging your body stuck to his sculpted front. Nodding half-lucidly, “Yeah- yeah just like that. Whatever you want with me.”

Your pace was unforgiving - barely even giving him a moment to spew out those pussydrunk promises before rocking your hips up and down up and-

“Use you, huh?” you echo back his own words, the sheer need dripping in them having Choso bow his body upwards to pummel into you in a matching feverish pace. You’re humming, thinking back to those stupid pick-up lines the creepy new manager at work had snided just today. It was harmless, but oh how Choso would kill him if he knew. “Well then, don’t mind if I do.”

With a pained keen, he’s surging upwards onto his elbows, craning his head to mesh your honeyed lips with his. “Mmm- mpfh yeah, exactly like this.” Mixing out such throaty groans with your gasps, so desperate to please you with the way he plants two feet on the bed, thrusting up hazily to find your sweet spots, “S’this any better? How do you- ngh how do you feel, baby?”

You’re letting out a drunken giggle with how he’s the one asking - when really it should be you. Because your sweet boyfriend looked so ruined, eyes wrecked with tears. Milky skin a canvas for possessive red marks from your nails. Kiss-bitten lips spit-glossed and permanently parted in ecstasy, only slacking further every time your snug channel dragged down him. 

“Much better, forgot about m’day already.” you’re hissing into his open mouth. “So fuckin’ gorgeous n’ mine, that bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s ah- talking about.”

Choso had no idea what you were talking about - though, he thinks his mind is too much of a hot, gooey mess to understand right now. Still so needy to please. Only being able to babble out a stupid, “Yours- fuck m’yours.”

And despite being the one setting the tempo, you can only let out such whiny groans at the sheer stretch Choso’s swollen cock is causing you. By the way he’s molding your gummy walls to each and every throbbing vein decorating down him.

“Sh-shit m’so close, baby.” he whines, a fresh wave of tears streaming down with each overstimulating smack! of his tight, overworked balls against the curve of your ass. Lazily, like he’s moving through molasses, Choso’s drawing messy patterns on your pulsing clit - not even circles, brain too fried to. “M’so close fuck- I need you to- I need-”

“Shhh shhh.” you coo, running a hand through his dark strands, damp with sweat. “Cum f’me, Cho~”

“Hngh!” He can’t stop his hips from bucking up ferally, crying out, “But- I can’t. Wan’ you to feel better. Need you to cum f’me. Use me-”

“Cho.”

“Please-”

“Choso.” you warn, narrowing your eyes, deciding to tease him a little with shallow, repetitive grinds of your hips up and down. Toes curling at the friction of his creamy seed sloshing around inside. “Cum.”

“Hngh- but-” he’s thrashing upwards, so addicted to the rough collision of your sensitive spots against his fat head. Pulling out such fucked-out moans from you already, “But m’spposed to be making you feel happy-”

Your fingers deftly find themselves on Choso’s temping throat, right above his racing pulse. You tighten your nails just enough to leave five matching crescents to match the rest of his marked-up body.

“Cho–” you puff in a sultry groan against his ear. “All I want is for you to fill me up right now.”

And then he’s spilling into you in thick, hot dredge after dredge of his potent seed - before you’ve even finished your sentence. It overfills your pre-painted cunt, that obscene white slopping out of your slit and onto where your hips rocked against your boyfriend’s even harder. A creamy white ring forming mouthwateringly. Relentlessly. 

“See?” Choso couldn’t - vision blurry, ears stuffed with cotton. “I don’t care what any sleazy manager has to say, you’re perfect for me.” A gentle kiss is placed on his pouty, worried lips and shit you still didn’t show any signs of slowing down, overstimulating him to tears. You trace his furious marks, “N’ pick me up from work tomorrow in your skimpiest muscle tee~”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Overtime?

A lewd smack! is all that’s ringing in your ears right now, so loud over the distant hum of the photocopier. Accompanied shortly by Geto’s sing-song rasp of, “Heh, missin’ our reservation for this- Are you the one havin’ a bad day or am I?”

Before you can answer, you’re being gifted with another mean kiss of your boyfriend’s palm against your bulging pussy. Smack! Lingering on the nudge of where he could feel your sloppy hole mending around his girthy shaft, before dancing upwards to grip your hair in a sultry hold. 

Pulling your entire weight up, up, up like he didn’t care about the way he was treating you like some ragdoll right now. Up to drag his lips towards your ear, “Doesn’t matter, because m’still fuckin’ you just the same.”

“S-Sugu–” your breaths crack with need when he’s pushing in a harsh thrust to slam back into the very bottom of your poor pussy. Eyes darting to the tiny window of your office photocopy room, “Sugu, we’re going to get caught.”

“And yet, she’s still hah- sucking me up as sluttily as ever.” he grins, tilting his head back to get those long, inky strands out of his face. He chuckles at the obscene sight of your cunt stretched to her limits, struggling, and drooling a sweet, sweet gloss down his length. “What’s with the ngh- attitude now? You said you wanted to feel better about working overtime so here we are.”

You bite down on your lower lip to hold back your moans when his fat tip draws a solid, straight line across your bruised cervix. Slamming forwards to have you scrambling forwards into some more important paperwork you really should be looking over right now. 

“I did but-”

“Problem solved then.” Geto lets out a low whistle, sounding so utterly smug when he pulls your hips deeper into his. “Now let me make this shitty workload hah- so much better for you, gorgeous.”

Honestly, when you told your dear boyfriend that you’d have to cancel tonight’s date because of a sudden deadline for tomorrow, you felt guilty. Working after everyone else had left, spewing out upset little apologies until he told you he’d come over to the office to “help you take your mind off of things.”

You just didn’t expect it’d end up like this. 

Smack!

Geto scoffs, “Aww documents have you zoning out on me again, pretty girl? Take a break, didn’t I tell ya you don’t have to worry about work and all those stupid things when you’re with me?”

Your knees weaken involuntarily when his gruff question is followed by such an unapologetic crash into your ravaged g-spot. Thankfully being held up by one of Geto’s strong arms to fuck yourself back all the way from his red, weepy tip to that see-through ring dredged up on his thick base. Somehow, you’re managing to gasp out, “N-no, I was just…”

“N-n-no, you were just zoning out, that’s what.” he’s mocking your answer in an overly-dramatic higher pitch, adding a few extra moans you were spilling with every harsh slam after slam of his hips. “What did I tell you now, relax. Let me fuck this shitty overtime and that shitty boss outta ya cute lil’ head, gorgeous. You and her-” His red-rimmed eyes, drunk on the feeling of your slicked walls enveloping him, lock on the sight of his curved dick disappearing so easily in and out of you. “-don’t have to worry about a thing right now.”

It was that same little promise - the one he’d whispered over and over into your sagging open mouth when he’d first ambushed you in the photocopy room. Bending you over the nearest flat surface before ramming into you all those thick, greedy inches of his long-needy cock.

And here he still was. 

Splatters of your syrupy slick coats his toned pelvis with every jagged thrust, fucking you so deep - so disrespectfully - into the office desk. Your feet don’t even touch the ground now, mind spinning and syrupy. Geto’s bending his own to angle up exactly to hit the bullseye of your sweet spots. All those familiarly mapped-out areas to drive anything and everything out of your mind but him and the temptation for more more more-

Click!

Both of you are raising your heads in sync at the distinct clamor of an opening door somewhere in the office - shit, was someone doing patrols at this time?

Your jaw drops open in shock - and the feeling of your boyfriend sliding two slender fingers to your pulsing clit. Drawing rough, skimming circles on the bundle of nerves. He has you jolting and arching your back right into him, his arms - exactly where he loved to have you. 

“Now we’re-” your words come in strangled little stutters, mindlessly bouncing your ass back onto his cock. Feeling the sinful tremors run down your spine with each slam, “-we’re really gonna get hah- caught. And I’m not even halfway through my project yet.”

And Geto - that smug bastard - sounds amused. He thinks he’ll have a ah- talk with your boss later about piling on workloads later. But for now, he sounds so fucking content when he’s musing, “Better cum fast before they give you more than overtime, pretty girl.” Before planting a deceivingly chaste peck on your lips, “Though, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to havin’ a cute lil’ housewife to spoil all day either.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - QUIET TIME!

“Oh, Kuna–”

“Now that’s music to my ears.” Sukuna smirks darkly, lips searing in a trail right down your arched spine. Two inhumanly large hands massage down your back, pulling you against his sculpted front. “So much better to hear you say m’name than complain about some fuckin’ eugh-” His tone trembles in distaste, “-office drama.”

Scoffing, “No need to be so mean, Kuna. You really should’ve heard what Mrs. Smith down at-”

That little tangent earns you a sharp smack! to the fat of your bare ass, cupping the little tremors with a chuckle. He hums with a mocking lilt in his baritone voice, “You’re testing my patience~” Sukuna goes back to kneading at the stressed knots in your body. “Shut up and let me massage you, woman.”

And oh you should’ve learned your lesson - should’ve taken this rare, sweet little moment you’d gotten from your rough boyfriend. Should’ve done anything other than huff out, “Ugh, if only you’d heard what she said, ruined my whole-”

“Lift your hips.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden interruption, “Wh-what?”

“Lift your hips goddammit.”

It’s all you can do to mindlessly head his gruffed out words, legs stuttering and shaky when you get up on all fours. A gasp rips from your throat when Sukuna shuffles into the gap between your pliant body and the silken bedsheets. Not stopping until his hot breath was puffing against your sopping slit, your eyes mere inches away from his massive erection. Throbbing thickly and outlined with precum through his boxers. 

Your mouth waters, “K-Kuna what-”

“So it really takes this to get me back on your mind, huh, brat?” he’s cutting you off with another branding smack on your ass - this time, the very rounded tips of his thick fingers just grazing against your dripping folds. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ about some fuckin’ Mrs. Smith even when I’m right here.”

“Are you jealous?” you muse, brows turning upwards in confusion. “Because I can assure you-”

Before you can run your mouth again, Sukuna’s cutting you off with one hand reaching down to wrap around your throat. The other pulls your shaky hips down to sit on his face. 

“How’s this for jealous?” He grunts, an obscene slurping noise pouring into your hazy bedroom, eyes rolling to the back of his head at this messy kiss with your needy cunt. “Gonna make you forget about those shitty people. Just focus on me.”

You’re managing to wrangle your greedy gaze over your shoulder to spy his lewdly wet smirk, glistening down with a glossed cover of your slick. They’re so pretty, so kiss-bruised in your favorite shade of pink when they wrap around your throbbing cunt to give a harsh suck. “What? Got a problem, woman?”

You wine softly in protest, your lower lip jutting out in a pout that makes his clothed cock just coat down his fat tip with syrupy precum. Opening your mouth to retort and-

In all of two seconds, Sukuna’s hand snug around your throat drops down to tug on his boxers. Tall, angry erection hitting your parted lips with a soft thwack! It doesn’t stay there for long - no, because you feel that familiar pressure back on your throat again, and his achy cock being bullied down, down, down your throat. 

“Actually, don’t answer that.” he’s letting out a strained groan, sanity dancing away with every clench of your tight throat around his glistening shaft. Holding you still with the hand on your throat, Sukuna’s powerful thigh muscles strain when he’s fucking up into your heavenly mouth slow, sultry. Spitting to coat him in all your sweet saliva, “Consider this quiet time, just shut up and take my cock.”

Your eyes are watering, Sukuna’s girth rubbing against every part of your plushy mouth. Swirling a pool of salty precum on your tongue. You can’t do anything but keen brokenly around that warm weight when long, thick fingers are spreading your puffy folds to wrangle his long tongue in deeper. Textures of his tastebuds grazing over and over against your spongy entrance - your clit. 

“Hngh- mmpf-” you’re jutting your hips traitorously. Dragging your slobbering pussy up and down his thorough lips, giving longing, drunken licks up from your weepy base to your hot clit. “Kuna-”

He breaks away with a sinful smack! Your sensitive bud being tugged along with snapping strings of delicate precum and slick.

“Mhm, that’s what I like-” he’s slurring out words mixing together with need. Free hand coming down to toy your clit between two rolling fingers. And you could tell how much he liked this, fat shaft twitching animalistically inside your mouth. Nudging his leaking head at the back of your throat, it’s only with how long you’ve been with Sukuna that you manage not to gag. “-to have you shut up on my cock this way. That pretty mouth is better used for something other than rememberin’ some shitty people when you’re with me. They can fuck right off with the disrespect towards my woman.”

It’s all you can do to keep your jaw slacking further and further with every dragged-out smack of Sukuna’s heavy balls against your face. His hips using you like some glorified cocksleeve, ruthless in his pace. Molding your mouth to the shape of him while he does the very same with yours.

“F-fuuuck-” you manage to gasp out through the drooling edges of your lips. “It feels so- ngh–” Moans getting lost when Sukuna flicks your throbbing clit slowly, nudging with the very tip of his dark fingernails. “You’re being so-”

“So loud.” he finishes your own sentence for you. Grinning a grin that sends shivers up your spine, right to where he was stuffing your mouth shut with all long inches of his cock. Murmuring dangerously around your sloppy hole, “Interrupt quiet time again and you don’t get to cum, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Unmistakably depraved.

“Fuuuuck, sweetheart.” Gojo’s whispering, over and over. As if he can’t - won’t - manage to articulate anything else right now. The honeyed words wrenching out of him with each sticky crash of his shaft down your sloppy slit in this firm mating press. “Do you know how hngh- long I’ve missed this sweet cunt?”

You don’t have to answer, and the echoing smack! of his too-sensitive balls against the curve of your ass is enough of one for him. Making his eyes gleam with such a feral glint, traveling straight to where he was pressing in bullying little grinds past your clamping walls. 

It’s been so long - too long - about a whole week since your pussy-whipped boyfriend was able to have his fill of you.

A soft pad of his thumb rolls in a  languid circle over your needy clit. Sending white-hot shockwaves that have you jolting the balls of your feet to greedily swallow up even more throbbing inches of him. 

“Fuck, forgot how tight you s-squeeze me when I do that.” Gojo eyes dance to the back of his head with every bottom-out hit against your clingy mess of a cunt. Crashing so messily onto every velvety inch of your cunt. It only takes a few drags of your slobbering walls down his length for your dear boyfriend to run his mouth, “Forgot allll about this because of some- hngh- some mournng for a fucking fictional character-”

“My favorite character, Toru!” you exclaim, through furrowed brows. Both of you are shocked at the fact that you’re still managing to speak in coherent sentences - just means he hasn’t fucked you good enough yet, he muses with his syrupy, pussydrunk mind. “He was my- my favorite and he died and-”

You’re immediately being shut up by two sweet lips planting on your own, immediately moving to suck on your tongue so filthily. “Well, I’m your favorite boyfriend-” Your only, but semantics. Gojo whines - whines, “Shouldn’t I- hngh- be more important?”

As if to help you make your decision, he’s burrowing his cock in such needy thrusts. And Gojo can’t help but crane his neck to bite down on your frantically racing pulse, feeling himself salivate with how well you’re milking each and every single vexing ram of his hips. Just spearing the hotly saturated tip into your spongy g-spots, so fucking big that every stroke feels like a brush against your throat, an indent into the plush walls of your pussy, wrapping and molded around his girth. 

Another bite to your neck at your silence - sharp canines just shy of drawing blood. And you swear Gojo’s eyes spark with an unnatural lightning blue when he devours you with a greedy stare, “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“You a-are.” Is all you can gasp out, but that’s not enough for the great Gojo Satoru. You’re instantly earning a rosy pout and a loaded smack! right on the bullseye of your glistening clit, faintly you think you hear the crackle of jujutsu. Thighs burning at the sheer stretch of being folded down, down, down until your knees knocked against your tits. “You’re more- hah! Fuck fuck fuck don’t– you’re more important!”

This seems to soothe your jealous boyfriend a bit, but it still doesn’t stop him from placing such brutal thrusts on your poor, ravaged pussy. Bruising. Sloppy. 

You’re whining so brokenly, “Fuck, right there- feels too good- hngh!”

“Mhm, exactly what I thought.” Another explosive slap to your sensitive nub, humming with power, and Gojo throws his head back at how much it makes you gush so wetly around his thick hilt. “Now, was that- ngh- was that so hard?” Spitting out little profanities into your lips, as if the man he was jealous over wasn’t a few pixels, “The f-fucker- Had to wait a whole week before I got to comfort my sad girl? I’d kill him myself.”

You can’t even formulate a response to that - not even if you wanted to. Because with increasingly sloppy drags of his cock against your walls, Gojo only grows more and more heated. 

“Fuck- makin’ my girl so upset. Gonna fuck all thoughts outta him for ya.” Babbling out little curses a mile a minute, swift pace bruising your spring cervix, your g-spot. A thin trickle of drool trails messily in-between your clashing kisses, only growing every time he’s ramming into your gripping cunt. “Gonna make you cum- make you mine.” Difficult, even with how you were clinging onto his every rough, angled thrust, and you don’t think Gojo even realizes the possessive little spanks he’s repeatedly leaving on your puffy clit. “Won’t you cum like a good girl f’me, sweetheart?”

He’s moaning at the sloppy way you listen to his ragged plea, letting out such pretty moans into the heady air when you fall back into your high. Toes curling, jolts of needy pleasure running down your spine, such a mess. 

It makes Gojo falter in his tempo, it makes the sharp bones on his toned hips slam into you even harder, stuttering and rutting forwards like some animal in heat that can’t bear to do anything but be buried well inside you. It makes him cum. 

“Oh- fuck, Toru s’in so deep.” You mewl, too cockdrunk to say anything else. To feel anything but the slow, sultry filling of your quivering cunt. Rope after rope of his hot cum painting the mess of your branded walls inside, and each time he’s fucking his cum even deeper you feel a lewd whimper of his name leave you. Vision tinging with need, with the feeling of being so overfilled you could barely breathe. “Oh- oh my god I feel it coming-”

Your words hitch in your throat when Gojo - cock still angry and twitching with faint wisps of trickling cum - plugs a slender finger into your bulging cunt. Stopping the overflow, the grins, “Hope you’re on the pill, my girl, because we’re not done until you forget.”

A/N. Ouu y’all should’ve seen the way I was CACKLING writing Toji’s ending.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[nochepsicodelica]

You wake up from a nap that went on a little too long, only to see that Toji still isn't next to you in bed. It's dark already, and when you check the time on your phone, the screen reads 10:14. You see light underneath the bedroom door and get up, dragging the blanket along with you. When you open the door, there Toji is, sitting on the couch, watching TV with his hand in a bag of chips. You peek at him from the hallway entryway and watch as he puts another chip in his mouth.

"Hi," Toji says, not the slightest bit oblivious to your eyes on him. His gaze shifts to you and the big, puffy blanket you have draped around you. "How'd you sleep?"

You don't answer, but instead start making your way towards him, the blanket tailing behind you as it drags on the floor. Five more steps and you're right in front of him. Without a second thought, you're climbing onto his lap and making yourself comfortable. Your big blanket covers him, as well as his bag of chips, now, too.

"Still tired, mama?" Toji asks, when you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You grunt, affirmatively, in response, tightening your arms around him. "That's how you answer, now?" He asks, chuckling when you grunt, again. "I'm rubbing off on you. You sound like a bear."

"Why didn't you come sleep with me?" You ask, your voice quiet from being underused.

"I went into the room to check on you and you were knocked out. Even got some cute pictures of you drooling, and you still didn't wake up."

You whine, annoyed at this revelation. "Not cute at all. It's like you don't even love me," you mumble, turning your face away from him, your cheek now positioned on his shoulder.

"Love you enough to keep an album full of these pictures."

"What? Toji." You briefly turn your attention back to him.

"There's eighty in there. Well, eighty-three, with the ones I got today."

You sigh, dramatically, and rest your cheek on his shoulder, again. "I have nothing more to say to you. Goodnight."

You can hear the smirk on Toji's face when he says, "'Night."

In the short amount of time that you slept on Toji, he was witness to yet another one of your dreams. He's been around for plenty of them. Some were nightmares, others just random dreams that made you jolt awake with a jump scare. He's even been around for the good ones that cause breathy renditions of his name to spill from your lips. This one was just weird.

Toji felt you stirring and watched as you nuzzled into his shoulder. He listened in on your nonsensical thoughts and grinned, amusedly, at the randomness. You sounded worried as you mumbled things about your eyes and how you wanted to keep them, and then something else about changing your mind and not being ready. He had no time to wonder what you weren't ready for, because you woke up and you looked scared.

You sit up on Toji's lap and blink a few times as you look around. "Toji, do my... my eyes?" You question, not finding offense in the way Toji looks like he's trying not to laugh. You're still very much concerned about your eyes.

"What about your eyes, ma?" He asks, his gaze darting after yours as you keep looking around.

"Do my eyes still work?" You ask, still panicking on the inside.

"I don't know. Do they?" he says, only further adding on to your fear. There's a small crease between your eyebrows, making you look conflicted. Your expression goes sad when you look away from Toji.

"Ma, wake up," Toji says, pinching your cheek a few times, while wearing a teasing grin on his face. "Look, if you're actually scared, we can check." You really need that confirmation, so you give Toji your full attention. "What's this?" He asks, tapping the scar that strikes his lips.

"Your handsome, sexy, all you can eat, full course meal of a scar," you mumble.

Toji deadpans and tilts his head, furthering his unamused expression. "Your eyes are fine."

"Test me, again. Pleaaaase?" You beg, giving him a soft smile and puppy eyes.

He sighs and gives in, no fight put up against you, whatsoever. "What color are my eyes?"

You hum as you lean in to examine the subject more closely before coming to your conclusion. "The most handsome bobansome, beautiful, crispy green apple, shade of green."

Toji scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. "See? Your eyes are fine. On that note, you're banned from sleeping on me."

You gasp, dramatically, as if he offended you. "Aren't you the one always manhandling me so that i'm sleeping on top of you? And during our afternoon naps, you put my leg over your hip. And when I try to get up, you--"

"Okay, you're not banned. Jeez." You outsmarted him and it shows through the way he subtly clenches his jaw. "If you like sleeping on me that much, just say so."

You narrow your eyes at him, before pushing off of his chest in an attempt to get off of him.

"Whatcha doing?" He asks, holding your hips down so that you can't move.

"Going back to the room," you say, trying to peel his hands off of you, to no avail. "I would like to sleep on our bed, now, Toji."

"Then, tell me that and I'll take you. What are you doing pawing at my hands, trying to get them off of you?" He takes one look at the involuntary lift of your lips and already knows what's going on. "Oh..." he chuckles. "You a grumpy little bear, now?"

"Don't talk to me," you grumble, huffing childishly and turning your attention away from him.

"Aren't you the one always calling, saying you just wanted to hear my voice while i'm working? And you get goosebumps all over when I talk directly into your ear. And when I don't--"

"Stooop," you whine, leaning forward and burying your face in the crook of his neck, again. Your arms wrap around his neck and your thighs squeeze his waist. "You're not fair," you mumble, into his warm skin.

"Yeah, i'm so cruel to you, huh, baby?" He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, a soft smile lingering on his lips when you hum out a little "mhm" in response. He moves his bag of chips aside and turns off the TV, before wrapping the blanket around you and tucking the excess away, so that he doesn't trip over it as he walks. With ease, he stands up from the couch and starts towards the bedroom, with his lump of a blanket clinging to him.

[cursingtoji]

listening to ghost and soap infamous “are you ugly?” conversation and not being able to stop thinking about what ghost meant by “quite the opposite”

you’re used to having him wearing his mask even whenever you two escape to blow off some steam, but since that day you’ve been building up some courage to ask the same thing soap tried to.

“take it off” you murmur with your lips inches away from his mask while setting a pace riding him.

Ghost, who was spread out on the couch raised his head, “y’r gettin’ spoiled, brat. last week was a kiss now you want my whole face?” he gives your ass a mean slap.

“’s not fair” you pout, whilst you are completely naked every time, simon only removes his shirt when you beg, maybe lowers his pants down to his ankles instead of just enough to let out his cock, but that’s it.

“Aight, want me to lose the mask?” he takes your black shirt, folding it sloppily until it’s narrow then he puts around your eyes tying on the back of your head.

“simon! no!” you raise your hands to undo it, he’s faster though, taking both your wrists and holding in the air. you hear some fumbling and suddenly your palms are being tickled by a stubble, you gasp realizing under your hands is ghost’s uncovered face.

“keep ridin’” he demands, adjusting his body to lay lower and thrusting you from bellow as a reminder he’s still inside.

you bite your lips, needing to put a hand on his chest as support, your other hand explores his face trying to paint a mental image of him.

his jawline is sharp, a few uneven parts along his skin, probably scars, there’s more hair on his chin than the rest of his jaw and to imagine simon with a blond goatee make you clench.

“shit” he curses tightening the grip on your hips, “what’re you so excited ‘bout, private? huh?” he pinches your nipple. you run your fingertips on his bottom lip, it’s thin and he could use some lip balm, but the excitement about touching him in such a intimate way gives you hope to one day convince him to let you apply lip balm on his lips, “behave” he growls.

“‘m behaving, sir” you smile sheepishly forgetting he can actually see your face. ghost takes your hand, making you close it and leaving just your index up. under the improvised blindfold you frown, next his lips are wrapping around your finger and his tongue is under your digit.

your clit throbs, not expecting this from your lieutenant.

“fuck, Lt.” you arch your back, approaching your orgasm.

“faster” both his hands are gripping your ass, he groans and you feel the vibration on your finger. you obey as one does, slapping your ass on his mighty thighs, as he sucks your finger, even letting some saliva run down your palm.

“si-mon ‘m close” you lose yourself on the sensation, seeing nothing makes you more aware of the stretch his cock gives you, not to mention the sounds your lieutenant is trying to hold. with one last suck he removes your finger, moving it to your own clit, where he presses it on your bud.

“cum then” you’re so close, but that’s one thing you still want.

“can i kiss you?” you edge yourself waiting for his answer, he sighs and you take it as a negative response, but his other hand leaves your ass as he guides your face to his where his lips awaited yours, he immediately pushes his tongue in, that’s merely your second kiss and you’re already coming.

“louder, i think the terrorists haven’t heard ya” he teases when you moan a high pitched note.

“fuck you, sir” you’re still riding him intensely, knowing he’s close too. he bites your lip, forcing your hips up and down faster and groaning as he fills your insides.

by the time you remove the blindfold, his mask is back on and you sigh in defeat, moving away from his lap and getting one last spank.

“goatee” you whisper in soap’s ear as he is about to eat his morning scrambled eggs.

“wut?” he turns to you.

“he has a goatee” you wink and leave to get your own breakfast. poor johnny is still processing what was said when ghost enters the room, later than usual.

soap drops his fork.

[alexiroflife]

how jjk men would react if they found out you sh…

Warning(s): cw//self harm, graphic depictions, mentions of depression, anxiety, sensitive content, angst/comfort

-> if you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, suicidal thoughts, depression, etc., know that you aren’t alone. as someone who used to struggle with these things myself, i understand how difficult it can be, but know that you are strong and you are loved. and thank you for the ask, this is a very important topic and i appreciate the vulnerability of the request. sending all the possible love in the world to all of you.

gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna

satoru gojo: satoru has an incredible sense of sight, thanks to his gift of the six eyes, as well as very keen observation skills. he picks up on little habits you harbor very quickly during the beginning of your relationship. you always choose to wear long-sleeved clothing, even when it’s warm, and you tug at your sleeves as though you are desperately trying to conceal a certain part of yourself from the outside world, from him. he doesn’t understand why at first. the thought crosses his mind that you just aren’t comfortable in sleeveless clothing, but you’ve shown him pictures of yourself from a decade ago when you’d wear variations of different tank tops, short sleeves, and more. he doesn’t understand what changed somewhere along the line. perhaps your sense of style has shifted? maybe you don't like your arms? (he can't understand how because he finds them to be the most gorgeous arms he's ever seen).

but no, something is nagging at him in the back of his head, churning the contents of his gut as though there is something he needs to know, to see that you were hiding, and when the moment unveiled itself, he instantly saw. 

you’re in your kitchen while satoru watches you from the other side of the island, leaning over and gazing at your movements with a soft smile. his blue eyes scattered across your body, admiring you while simultaneously searching for any clue, any answer to his hovering questions.

“where’d i put the containers,” you murmur to yourself in the midst of making lunch for the week, moving about your space rather slowly. 

satoru offers his own help, pointing a slender finger over to the space above your head. “did you check that cabinet?” he asks.

you turn over your shoulder and quirk your brow. “oh, do you live here now? suddenly know where everything is?” you ask playfully, a small smile rising to your lips as satoru chuckles. 

“not yet,” he winks. “but i sure am working on it, though. you know i have to make myself familiar with the space in case we share it someday.”

“is that so?”

“or, of that doesn't work out you could always live with me. i’d love to have you.”

“we’ve been together for three weeks, satoru.”

“yeah, but what does that matter when it comes to loveeee,” he pouts and you giggle, shaking your head as you turn back to reach for the cabinet. you stand on your tiptoes and reach out, sleeve of your sweet draping down to your elbow.

satoru is quick to his feet to help you, though you’re more than capable, when he catches the sight of what looks like a scar streaking over the inside of your wrist. his face falls and his brows angle, marching over to you quickly with a look of urgency on his face.

you don’t register how fast he is moving until you feel him behind you. you turn and look up, caught off guard by the way his eyes had hardened and his pupils shrank. your hand stalls on the cabinet handle, the scars on your arm completely slipping your mind momentarily.

“satoru? you okay?”

he doesn’t answer, grasping your wrist in his hand gently and pulling it down from above you. your eyes flicker up to the movement, and when you realize what is happening, your heart sinks. your eyes go wide and you try to tug your arm away, but satoru’s grip tightens slightly, extending your arm by your wrist to display the inside of your forearm before him. 

he thinks his vision is blurring over, his heart ringing in his ears, his breaths quickening as his eyes detail over the row of rigid scars lining from your inner elbow up to your wrist. his world collapses around him, lips stretching into a disbelieving grimace as his wild eyes survey the damage. some of those scars look newer than others, scabbing over with specs of purple, while the others are far older. 

you panic, trying to tug away again, but satoru’s grip on you is too secure. a lump forms in your throat as you search for things to say, anything to say that could take your boyfriend’s attention away, that could excuse the sight before him as something else. “s-satoru, wait-” you stammer, your voice weaker than you had intended it to be. 

satoru looks like he can’t hear you, nose flaring as he stares, and stares, and stares, and suddenly, your vulnerability is bare naked before him, on display for him to judge, to belittle, to curl his brows at and determine as pathetic and weak. you can feel yourself about to cry already, shaken by this sudden attention.

“satoru,” you whisper, arm trembling within his grasp.

“what is this?” he breathes out so quietly, his voice betraying himself and hardly reaching over a brush through the wind. when you do not answer, those pained eyes are on you, tormented by the sight he has just witnessed. “(y/n), what is this?”

you feel small, avoiding his eyes and looking all over the floor. “i- it’s nothing,” you murmur.

“nothing?” he repeats, as though he has been burned by your response. the white haired man quickly seeks out your other wrist, reaching down to your other side as you try to turn away, but he, of course, manages to seize it and extend it like your other arm and roll up that sleeve. the same row of scars litter your beautiful skin.

satoru’s a mess, frightened, confused, devastated. this is what you had been hiding from him all this time? “this isn’t fucking nothing, (y/n), they’re all over you! what did you do?”

you still can’t respond, you can’t muster up an excuse, you can’t do anything. satoru’s concern is far too overbearing, his gaze too intense, and his hold on you too secure. it feels like he has you laid out on a slab before him, stripped of your clothes as he examines your body with contempt.

he’s disgusted. he’s ashamed, you think. 

amid his grief, he catches the terrified look in your eye, your lips tugged downward as if to prevent yourself from crying. you look so scared.

how could he have not seen this sooner, that you’re hurting? that you’re hurting yourself? 

“baby, what did you do?” he repeats, softer this time as he leans down to look at you, your body trembling in his hold. his thumbs graze your inflamed skin, hesitant to touch you for fear that you may break.

“please don’t,” you breathe out in a huff, voice wobbling as you scrunch your eyes closed. “please, don’t look. just forget you saw it, please.”

“forget i-?” satoru has to stop himself from lashing out poorly, from allowing his emotions to overcome him in what he understands is clearly your moment of need. “how could you ask me to do something like that? (y/n), your arms, baby!”

“satoru, please-” you shake your head. you want to shrink away, to hide, to vanish into thin air. “i don’t wanna talk about it. please.”

“(y/n),” he exhales, closing his eyes to gather himself. “(y/n),” he repeats softly, hands releasing your wrists slowly and sliding up your arms to delicately hold your shoulders. “we can’t not talk about this. you have to tell me what’s been going on. you have to, baby, you have to understand how scared I am right now. help me understand. let me help you, let me take on whatever burden you’re carrying, please, I’ll do anything as long as it means you’re not hurting yourself.”

his hands move to your neck, cupping over the skin as he ducks his head down to look at you more clearly. 

“i can’t stand the thought that you’ve been- and i haven’t-” satoru was stumbling now, throat straining as the urge to cry rose. “why didn’t you come to me? i’m right here for you, (y/n), i always have been. why didn’t you tell me?”

“...it’s embarrassing,” you manage to say, your voice fragile, on the verge of breaking. you can feel your boyfriend’s eyes peering into you even with your own eyes closed. “didn’t want you to see… I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

satoru’s heart is breaking for you, hurt that you could even think of yourself as a burden to him. “have i- have i done or said anything to you to make you feel that way?” he asks genuinely, and you cringe, turning your head to the side to open your eyes.

“no, of course not.”

“then why would you think that, baby?”

you shrug helplessly, tears welling into your eyes. satoru sees you, all of you, his heart thrumming to capture the pain you feel and to lift it from your chest, to help you breathe even just a little bit. he releases a weighted sigh, one of sadness, of love, of heartache for you, and he’s pulling you into him as your arms dangle limply at your sides. 

you scrunch your eyes and immediately break down into him, sobbing into his shirt as his warm hands wash over your frame and cradle your head to him, the muscles in his face tight with anguish. he holds onto you like he’s horrified that you will fade away within his arms. 

“i’m just so tired, toru,” you cry into his chest, dampening the fabric of his shirt. “i’m sorry.”

satoru doesn’t respond, afraid that if he speaks, he’ll end up crying too. you’re his girl, his beautiful, loving girl, and the fact that you have done such harm to yourself is incomprehensible to him. if you love him so, how can you hate yourself enough to have done this?

“how long?” is all he can ask you, breath heaving into your hair and ear. you hesitate, for he already seems so wounded by his discovery. “tell me.”

“...two years…”

he’s crushed. how did he not see sooner? how could he have been so blind after having bragged about being able to see everything so clearly? how could he have left you like this?

he holds you tighter, digging his head into the crook of your neck and hunching over, your eyes now seeing over the curve of his broad shoulder. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes to you in turn, fingers curling into your hair as he holds your scalp. “i'm sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

you’re confused as to why he’s apologizing to you since the entire thing is your fault. satoru has a tendency to take on your emotions, piling them onto his own weight of carrying the title of the strongest. you never understood why he did so naturally and willingly, and why even now as you stood limply in his arms, he’s crying for the things you did to yourself.

he pulls away with shiny red eyes, gazing down into your shiny red eyes and tear stained cheeks. you’re so beautiful, he thinks. he hates that such beauty has been suffering in so much silence.

“(y/n), I love you more than anything in this goddamn world. please don’t- don’t keep doing this to yourself. if you’re hurting, come to me. hurt me if you have to lash out, but don’t hurt yourself beautiful.”

“i would never even think of hurting you, satoru.”

“then don’t think of doing it to yourself,” he says firmly, and you press your lips together. 

“…i-i don’t know how to… to stop,” you mumble, and he’s taking your hands in his and kissing them gently.

“i’ll help you. we can get you help, baby, I promise. just promise me, please,” he begs you, holding your hands close to his heart. “you come to me when you feel like doing that, okay? you come to me. and I’ll do whatever I can. let me help you. let me be there for you. i won’t let you push me out, (y/n).”

you're crying again, tears streaking over your face as satoru’s love captures you within his words, within his warmth as he forces you to understand that you are not alone, and never will be. 

satoru kisses your hands again. his lips reach your cheek, and his hand comes to tuck your head into his shoulder again, holding you and telling you that you have him to go to when your world grows dark.

geto suguru: if suguru could sum you up into one word, he would say that you're his universe.

everything in his life he does for the sake of you and his girls, for the sake of keeping you safe and making you happy. your happiness and your comfortability are the only things that suguru prioritizes above all else, making them his very goal to serve each and every day.

suguru's not the most stable, you know that and he knows that himself. he has his off days, where he falls quiet and the world around him numbs itself and the noise becomes a muffle in his ears until you step into view, giving him a smile and wrapping his big frame up in your small arms, your voice whispering to him and breaking through the fog. you're his sanctuary. you're his safe place, and he loves you so much. he owes his entire life to you, therefore ensuring that you feel just as loved as you make him feel is very important to him.

so when he catches sight of the scars on your stomach one day by accident, when you lift up mimiko to sit on your shoulder as nanako jumps up for you to pick her up to, and her shoe kicks up your shirt from your waist momentarily, suguru freezes.

are you hurt? did someone do this to you? did you do this to yourself?

countless thoughts are racing through suguru's mind as he stares at you in a daze, watching you laugh so joyfully along with the girls as though no trouble plagues you.

but there is. you've just been hiding it. hiding it far too well.

his mind is elsewhere for the rest of the day, unsure of if he had been imagining things or not. he knows you so well, or at least he thinks he does. how have you been hiding those marks littering your lower abdomen? how had he missed them?

he thinks back to the moments you two were intimate and recalls that you never wanted to remove the tanktop you wore or let him kiss further than your ribs. he recalls the days you all went to the beach and you kept a white shirt over your swimsuit or elected to wear a onepiece. he recalls how quickly you change when he's with you, your back turned to him as you rush to throw something on over your upper body.

the signs... they're all there. you've been hiding yourself from him, but why? what have you been doing? have you truly been harming yourself, or is that thought a trick of suguru's worst fears?

he tries to keep himself calm around you and the girls for the remainder of the day until they are put to sleep and the two of you are alone again.

you sit on the edge of your shared bed, rubbing lotion over your arms with your back facing suguru again. he watches you carefully, back resting against the headboards and hazel eyes trained on your figure as though you aren't real.

he waits for the proper moment, waiting for you to crawl up and curl under his side, his arm subconsciously wrapping over your waist as your head lays on his chest. he stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking as weighty silence overcomes you, then he's cautiously speaking.

"(y/n)?"

the soft call of your name brings your head up to peer at him curiously, blinking innocently. he turns down to look at your face and his heart clenches. while he knows that he knows what he saw, he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't want to think that you, such a selfless and caring person for him, would hurt yourself.

you hum up at him, wondering what he has called you for. you see the pensive look in his face, the subtle knit in his brow as he stares at you, gears in his head turning. "yeah sugu?" you say gently.

he doesn't want to ask, but he has to. he doesn't want the confirmation, but he needs to know.

"i want to ask you a question..." he says, and you grow slightly befuddled.

"...okay?" you start. "is it serious?"

"yeah, it is," he admits, and you suddenly grow nervous, immediately catching an idea of what this could be about. you don't like the look on his face, the way he appears so serious.

"...alright," you mumble, suddenly meek.

the black haired man stares for a few more moments, just looking at you, taking in your the features he feel so deeply in love with, the features that bring him comfort and peace. "i saw something earlier, when you were holding mimiko," he begins softly, thumb caressing your back to ease you into the conversation.

you feel your heart jolt anxiously, trying to keep a straight face so as to not give your nerves away, but knowing suguru, he could likely already tell that you're getting antsy.

you lift your head to look at him, hand resting over his chest, and his eyes follow you smoothly. his eyes are focused, lips in a firm line.

"your shirt lifted, and i saw your stomach. i saw some marks. a lot of them, actually," he says, and you still completely, like a deer caught in headlights. his hand presses gently into your back, trying to keep you present with him as his concerns grow worse when he sees you stiffen against him. he frowns, denial still taking hold of him. "(y/n), please tell me those aren't what i think they are," he sighs heavily.

you feel caught.

you knew that suguru would find out at some point or another, but that didn't make this moment any less horrifying for you. it's so quiet in your room, so isolating, no background noise of the girls giggling or the distant buzz of the tv to help weaken the intensity of this point in time. you feel like a spotlight is shining overhead, an audience awaiting eagerly for you to reveal your secrets to the crowd.

suguru sits up slightly, his calmness gradually shifting into terrified incredulity. your eyes are on his face but your gaze is elsewhere, far off. you look uncomfortable, stuck, and no explanation hits suguru's ears.

"(y/n)," he says your name again, looking desperately down at you. "tell me i'm wrong."

you wish you could, you really do, but you can't lie to suguru. he knows you too well, he loves you too much, and to lie to him would be like denying his understanding of who you are.

you feel your skin flush with shame and anxiety, heartbeat likely loud enough for your boyfriend to hear.

you worry. you worry about your boyfriend's judgment, for his reaction. is he going to be angry with you?

"hey," he snaps you out of your daze with the drag of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes as he stares at you helplessly. you look at him and frown, ashamed that you are the reason he looks so pained. "what's going on?"

the question comes out so delicately, it makes your heart break. a whisp of understanding blends into his tone with empathy, yet a crushing sense of sadness and guilt that overpowers the aforementioned emotions. you struggle to look him in his kind eyes, dreading his consolation that you feel you don't deserve.

"talk to me, (y/n)."

you chew angrily on the inside of your lip, looking down at your finger as you pick at his shirt. he watches your brows furl, an array of different feelings capturing your features. "i was gonna tell you about it..." you murmur, and suguru is floored.

"what?" he breathes out as though he has no more air. you wince, lowering your head. "you-" he pauses, mind jumping from one place to another. "you did that to yourself?"

"i'm sorry, i-" you can feel your throat growing tight. "i've been trying to-"

"to stop?" he tries to finish for you, grasping for any kind of explanation. he's devastated, not only because you've been harming yourself, but because you've been so busy looking after him and the girls that he hasn't noticed. you're the one who always comforts him, but while you've been doing that, you've been aching on the inside and trying to hide it.

you nod meekly when he concludes for you. "i just- i thought the feelings would go away, so i didn't say anything, but they're just getting worse and i don't know what to do anymore and i only feel better after i..."

"(y/n)," he stops you gently, his heart shattering upon listening to you ramble, spilling out the things you have been holding onto for what he assumes to have been so long. "you've been dealing with this all this time?"

"...it's on and off," you confess. "some days are better than others, but..."

suguru finds your words familiar, for he often finds himself in the exact same mindset; feeling functional and confident some days, and others, not so much, but you're the reason why he's able to handle his bad days, yet he hasn't been the same for you for as long as the two of you have been together.

he feels almost sick. he loves you to death. you're his everything, but you've been in pain, and he hasn't seen it.

the way he's looking at you now makes you feel guilty, remorseful, embarrassed. you know you should have told him, but you could never find the strength to. you had always been too scared. and the longer you self-harm, the less you are willing to admit to yourself and to your boyfriend that you have a problem.

you're shocked, though, when suguru's hands tighten over you and his face grows bitter, not with you but with himself. "how could i have been so stupid?" he grumbles, distraught. "and so selfish? all this time, you-"

"no, suguru, please, it's not your fault," you try to tell him.

"i should have seen, baby, i should have noticed something sooner. and all this time, instead you've been looking after me when i should have been looking after you."

"don't say that, suguru," you shift, looking sadly into his eyes. "it's my fault. i'm the one who did this, i'm the one who's to blame. i'm the stupid and selfish one, not you."

suguru's frown deepens, sad eyes looking over your face. you blame and belittle yourself just as easily as suguru does, and he can't stand it. he can't stand to see you like this, to be so aware of hurt before him. he wants, no, he needs to take all that pain away from you. he needs to exorcize it, rid your body of it, cast it away so that you can be happy from now until the rest of time. he needs you to be okay.

"i swear on my life, (y/n)," he begins firmly, eyes boring straight into yours, holding your cheek. "i will do everything in my power to get you through this. whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, i will be here for you. you're not alone, you understand? you don't need to pretend for me. the girls love you- god i love you so fucking much, and i can't stomach to think of the times you've suffered in silence for my sake. i'm no good if you're no good, baby. i need to know these things, i need to be able to help you."

your nose twitches and your jaw clenches as you look into him, breathing growing unstable. suguru has always been so generous and so loving. he has a way with his words and how safe they make you feel even during your worst moments.

"but what if i can't do it, sugu?" you whisper, his thumb catching the tear that leaks from the corner of your eye. "what if i'm not strong enough to get better?"

"you are strong enough," he affirms confidently. "more than strong enough. and when you feel weak, lean on me. but you have to promise me something."

you nod slowly, mutely, keeping his gaze as he stares at you lovingly, wistfully.

"promise me you won't do it," his words come out as a quick, hasty breath. his brows curl further upward, his desperation plain on his pretty face. "promise me you'll let me know as soon as you want to, but don't hurt yourself again, (y/n). don't do it. i'm begging you. you don't deserve that pain."

though you are unsure if you can even make that promise to yourself, you force yourself to try. for suguru's sake. "okay," you mumble, and he sighs, kissing you softly and pulling you to his chest to whisper sweet nothings as his hands soothe over your stomach and your back.

nanami kento: you twist your fingers around each other as you sit in the living room while kento cooks in the kitchen. you're nervous, more nervous than you have been about anything in your entire life, but you know that you need to rip off this bandaid to approach your boyfriend about such a serious matter.

recently, you find yourself returning to the old habit that you believed to have been relinquished. you thought that you had gotten better, that the urge to self harm had completely gone away after having spent so much time in therapy trying to heal, but recently, you've been feeling down again, useless, angry with yourself. you didn't want to tell nanami at first because you didn't think that your current mood would go beyond feeling depressed, but now that you've started scratching away at your thighs and your arms again, you know that you need to let him know what's going on. you know that you can't go on like this anymore.

but you have no idea what to say.

nanami has been nothing but doting toward you, bringing you flowers every morning, making your meals, ensuring that you remember to schedule doctor's appointments or to keep yourself warm when it's cold out- the man's life revolves around your comfortability, and while you know he would be far more offended if you keep this to yourself, you're horrified to see his reaction when you tell him that you relapsed.

nanami is well aware of your past difficulties with your mental health, and he always tells you that if you are ever in a dark space again, he needs to know. even so, he hasn't been with you when you're like this. the two of you got together after the multiple therapy visits that helped you to shift mindsets, so now that you feel this way again, and while in a relationship with nanami no less, you feel petrified.

you don't even notice when he rounds the kitchen counter to make his way over to the dining table, setting down two plates of food. he looks over and catches the way you stare ahead blankly, lost in thought. you've been doing a lot of that lately and he wonders if something is wrong.

nevertheless, he knows that if something is bothering you, you'll tell him. "sweetheart, dinner's ready," he calls out, and you snap your head over to him, his voice bringing you out of your daze.

you stand wordlessly, movements somewhat robotic, as you slowly make your way over to the table. "thanks, ken," you say softly, lacking your usual energy, and at this point, your partner knows for certain that something is off.

he watches you carefully as you sit down, pushing in your seat for you and pecking your forehead before sitting down next to you. "tell me how your day was," he starts, brushing off his hands and reaching one out to rest one on your knee as he always did at the table. he's prying, you can tell, trying to learn if something that happened throughout the day affected your mood.

your heart is hammering loudly, your eyes stuck to the plate and unable to look up at him. "it was okay," you respond.

"just okay?" he questions and you nod slowly. "did something happen?"

you flicker your eyes up to his brown ones suddenly, caught off guard by the question. he sees the questioning in your eyes and replies accordingly.

"you seem to be a little off, this evening, that's all."

you hum, unsure of how to respond to his observation. you look away again, contemplating. just say it, you think. just tell him, just get it over with.

as you struggle against yourself, nanami only grows more concerned. you don't confirm or deny his comment, and the way you turn away has him wondering if he's done something to hurt you.

"did i do something wrong, darling?" he asks.

you furrow your brows and quickly shut down the idea. "no, no. not at all, ken. it's nothing you did."

"then... there is something troubling you?"

you stall a bit more now that you're on the spot, cursing the fact that kento is always so quick to pick up on the smallest changes in your demeanor.

"(y/n)?" he calls you when you don't answer.

"i have to tell you something," you say abruptly. you see nanami's brows raise ever so slightly, soft brown eyes looking over your face in an attempt to read the situation before you tell him anything. "it's... a lot. so i need you to just... bear with me. and please don't be mad."

nanami's brow twitches slightly as he looks at you, head tilting. he grabs the bottom of his chair and shuffles it closer to you, leaning over slightly and running his hand over where it resides on your knee.

"i could never be mad at you," he tells you earnestly, as though it's the most honest thing he's said in the world. "what's the matter, my love?"

god, he's so sweet to you it makes you physically ill that you have to break this news to him.

"...do you remember when we talked about... um..." your voice fades off, nanami's concentrated gaze only making you more nervous for what his reaction will be.

"take your time," he encourages you, and you only feel worse.

you return to chewing on the inside of your lip anxiously, picking at your shirt under the table. the blonde man beside you is ever so patient, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you verbalize them.

"...um...it's.... about what we talked about a while ago..."

"...and that would be regarding?"

"my... past."

nanami furrows his brows, still not quite understanding. "i apologize, honey, what about your past?"

just rip the bandaid. just rip the bandaid.

"my past with self-harming," you rush out, and the weighty silence that follows is enough to make you want to sink into the floor and let it swallow you whole.

you can feel his eyes burning into you, processing what you just told him, and all you can hear is the pound of your heart in your ears as his hand stills upon your knee.

nanami, on the other hand, is completely shocked by your revelation. while he understands that your relapsing has always been a very realistic possibility, he never wanted to entertain the idea that it could very much so happen- at least, not while he's around.

a sense of fear grips him. are you going to tell him that you relapsed? have you already hurt yourself? has he failed to be there when it happened??

"did you-" he doesn't know what he wants to ask, or how. he hates that he is already jumping to conclusions, but the way you are structuring this conversation with him only leads him to believe the worst. "what happened?"

your head hangs low and your fingers taut on your shirt, lips tightening as they press together. you can hear the disbelief in his voice already, and it breaks you.

"i relapsed."

the brown-eyed man clenches his jaw, falling completely silent once more to not react in a way that may worsen your state. you feel his hand tighten into a fist over top of your leg as he lowers his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and inhaling sharply. you feel like a child who is awaiting punishment as you look at his hunched state, a million questions of what he will do next running through your mind.

you hate to do this to him. nanami already has so much on his plate, you know this is the last thing he needs to be stressing over. you wish you could be okay for him. it's not his fault that your mind takes you to these places, and you don't want him to bear responsibility as though it is his doing. even so, you already know that he will because that's the type of man kento is. that's the type of boyfriend kento is.

you wait a few more moments in unbearable muteness. after what feels like forever, kento lifts his head again and rests his chin on his fist, elbow propped on his knee. he's looking to the side, deep in anguished thought. he no longer looks surprised, but rather guilty and frustrated. "when?" is the first thing he asks.

"yesterday," you answer dejectedly, and he almost jerks, his body twitching in reaction. "...are you mad?"

nanami looks at you and his hardened expression immediately softens into something melancholy. "no- no, of course not, (y/n), no," he shakes his head as if the notion is unfathomable, releasing his fist to cup your knee again more securely. "i will never be angry with you for what you're going through. never. no, i'm not mad."

you nod quickly, a meek sense of relief and sorrow taking over you, a weight heaving from your chest upon letting it out. "okay," you whimper.

"come here, my darling," he coaxes you softly, opening and grabbing your hand from under the table delicately to lead you to stand over him. his hand guides over the small of you're back once you're up, leading you to sit on his lap with your back pressed against the table and your legs dangling over one side of his chair.

he holds your forearms gently, looking up at you with sad, understanding eyes. "are you comfortable showing me?" he murmurs so intimately, easing you into his warm consolation.

you don't nod or answer him verbally. instead, you wordlessly roll up the sleeve of your sweater to reveal angry red scratch lines running up your inner forearm. nanami's lips curl in pain as though he can feel the sting of your scars, holding your arm gently for him to look over it.

the sight kills him, though he tries to keep his cool. this isn't about him, it's about you, but goodness, the image of the scars on your beautiful skin makes him hurt like no other pain he's experienced.

"is this all of it?" he asks you, and you shake your head.

"there's some on my thighs," you mutter, looking down.

he nods. "alright," he sighs. "alright."

"...i know you have so much on your plate already... i just-"

"don't. don't even," he stops you, eyes still roaming over your irritated skin. nanami usually commends himself for remaining collected in times of crisis, but he's desperately fighting a part of him that wants to yell out and cry for the sake of you.

he imagines you struggling with this on your own, long before he came into your life, and the thought makes him cringe to picture just how far this must have gotten. these scratches he is surveying now already look bad enough. were the other ones worse?

"(y/n), you know this isn't okay," he looks up at your face and sees how you are avoiding his eyes. you look so small compared to how you usually carry yourself, and it kills him. "to harm yourself like this... you can't treat yourself this way, darling, you know you can't."

"i know," you mumble. "i just had a moment, and now i'm scared that- that i'll go back to how things were."

"as long as i'm with you, you won't. i promise you that," nanami swears. "it was just this one time since you last?"

you nod. "yeah..."

"okay," he nods once more, convincing himself that this is something he can help stop before it gets any more out of hand. "why'd you do it this time, my love? what were you thinking that led you here? is there something i can do differently? is it work? is it a combination of things?"

"i wish it were that easy to explain, kento," you frown, glancing up at him helplessly. "but it's just... it's just a feeling i can't put into words. i can't pinpoint the source. i just... one minute i felt like i couldn't breathe, and the next i was..."

"okay," he repeats, letting you know that you no longer need to say anything more. you don't have to revisit it. he understands. he will take care of it. he'll help you. "okay, darling. how about this. i call off of work tomorrow and we can sit and talk about seeing a new therapist. then we can go out and do whatever you want. just for fun. does that sound okay with you?"

your nose flares and your lips tug to the side as you nod, truly not comprehending how you managed to find a man so patient with you. "yeah, that's good," you say softly, and nanami is at least relieved that you are willing to take further steps into a better direction.

"good," he whispers, rolling the sleeve of your sweater back down so that you no longer feel exposed or feel like you have to think any more about the things you did to yourself when you felt alone. "it's alright, my love. we'll get through it. you'll get past this just like you did last time," he encourages you, moving to caress your shoulder lovingly as you hold his gaze. "it's okay," he tells you again, and you nod weakly, leaning over to plop your head against his shoulder.

nanami holds you to him and exhales, food completely forgotten. his only priority now is to be there for you in the ways he could not before the two of you met.

"thank you for telling me."

choso kamo: choso worships the ground you walk on because he can not fathom a world without, nor the fact that you happened to stumble into his life on a whim. to imagine you hurt is the very worst thing that the man can think of, and the notion that you would hurt yourself is beyond his comprehension.

you aren't actively trying to hide any of your scars when he finds them. the scars are old, faded reminders of the pain that you used to endure and how you attempted to cope with it. while you are now six months free of self harming, the scars remain very present.

choso happens to catch sight of your scars when you are getting changed. he's sitting at the edge of your bed, face flushed, as he watches you blissfully change out of your pajamas and into clothes that you feel are best suited for a walk to the ice cream shop that choso has proposed. it's a bright sunday afternoon, and the brunette is eager to take advantage of the weather with the woman he holds close to his heart as well as his baby brother, who the two of you intend to meet at the store.

you're now dressed in nothing but a large white shirt and underwear, your legs bare as you strut around the space freely. choso's jade eyes follow you as you walk, completely obsessed with the way you move. he could watch you do the most mundane things for hours, which he truthfully tends to do anyway.

your back is to him before you round the bed, disappearing into the bathroom momentarily before coming back into the living room. choso's eyes still don't leave you, tracing over your face down your figure and finally to the front of your bare legs.

he falters, and his brows draw together when he catches dark marks littering over your inner thighs, only revealing themselves with the movement of your limbs as you walk.

the pale-skinned man grows confused and slightly concerned. he's never seen those marks on you before, and simultaneously, never on anyone else he knows either. he finds them to be a strange form of battle scars, especially due to the placement, the small size, and the sheer number of them. some of them take different shapes too, blurring together or over each other, while some stand out alone. they almost look like burns, but it's hard for choso to really tell.

you proceed about your business, searching through your drawer to pull out a skirt, when choso speaks up.

"love? what are those?" he asks curiously, perplexed.

you turn over your shoulder, shutting your drawer closed with your foot. "hm? what's what, cho?" you ask him, unsure of what he's referring.

choso, still slightly flustered by the vision of your half exposed body, nods his head into the direction of your lower legs. "those," he says again, and you look down, still lost.

you lift your foot momentarily, checking to see if something is stuck under or on top of it. you then survey the rest of your body, searching for something out of the ordinary. "uhhh," you trail off. "i'm not sure what you mean, baby. you're talking about my legs?"

you are far too desensitized to and familiar with the image of your scars to process that choso has never seen them before. the brunette, however, is unsatisfied, wanting an answer that you have yet to provide.

he leans forward, lifting his hand and pointing his finger directly to a patch of dark spots peeking out from your inner thighs. you follow his gaze, eyes landing on the culprits, and your shoulders drop in realization. "oh," you say shortly, choso retracting his hand.

he looks at you innocently, awaiting a response while you try to figure out how to explain this sight to him.

you don't want to worry him, but knowing choso, if you lead with the fact that these scars are there because you inflicted them onto yourself, he would have a heart attack, failing to find reason to your words.

even so, you know choso only wants to understand you as much as you desire to understand him. he wants to see the ugly parts as well as the beautiful parts of you that he is so drawn to, and if you hide it from him, that would only create a rift in your budding relationship that you aren't entirely too keen on creating.

you want him to know you, all of you, and these scars are as much of a part of you as the bones in your body and the blood pumping through your skin.

they're a sign of what you've been through, what you've overcome, and who you are now. they're important, and choso should know why they are there.

"that's a good question," you sigh, putting your skirt on the bed as you move to sit next to him at the edge of it. choso immediately turns to you, glancing over the marks shamelessly now that he has a better view of them.

"did someone do that to you?" is the first thought that crosses his mind, red drifting into his vision at the mere idea that someone has hurt you in such an intimate way.

"...no," you shake your head, lifting one leg up onto the bed, brushing his own, as the other dangles. "i put them there. a while ago," you explain honestly.

choso scrunches his brows tighter, eyes flickering up to your face then back down to try to identify what exactly the marks are. "what are they?" he repeats.

you exhale, puckering your lips as you prepare yourself for this difficult conversation. "they're burns, cho. from a match," you tell him.

now, the half-curse is incredibly confused. burn marks? on your lovely skin? in a place where only you could reach? put there by yourself?

you burned yourself?

"i don't understand," he frowns, shifting to face you better. "why would you..."

"i used to be in a really bad place, baby," you purse your lips, watching as his face contorts with consternation as he comes to understand that you purposefully harmed yourself.

"what do you mean? bad enough to do this to yourself?" he sounds mortified, his voice growing ragged the moment his tone picks up volume.

his pupils, moments ago blown pools of affection, are now shrunken dots of shock.

"don't look at me like that," you beg him, placing your hand over his own. his eyes snap to the sudden contact, then back to you with concern. "sometimes, when certain people are suffering from depression, or anxiety, or just overall bad thoughts and they feel like they have to... break out, or maybe punish themselves in a sense... they resort to hurting themselves."

choso gulps, lump forming in his throat as he listens to you with shaking eyes. "and that's what you did? you felt like you needed to punish yourself?"

"it's hard to explain to someone on the outside. i know it sounds... crazy, but it was the only way i knew how to cope with everything that i was dealing with."

"why didn't you come to me instead?" he immediately asks and you give him a sad, knowing look.

"because, we didn't know each other then, cho?"

"i don't care," he shakes his head, eyes keeping yours. "you should have found me."

the idea brings a hint of a smile to your lips, choso's sweetness warming your heart. "i didn't know who you were, baby, that would have been like begging a stranger for help."

"so?" he scoffs. "i loved you the moment i met you. it wouldn't have made any difference to me.

you sigh again, bringing your other hand to rest over top of your boyfriend's as you smile softly at him in an attempt to get him to calm down.

the panic is still written all over his face as he takes in your smile, the vision somehow only making him sadder. you're so gorgeous, inside and out, and that smile is only scratching the surface of your unending beauty.

to know now that your radiance was once outweighed by the torment in your mind encouraging you to harm yourself... well, it makes choso want to ball his eyes out. it makes him want to confront the physical manifestation of your past traumas and pummel it into the ground, bashing its head in for all the hurt that it has caused you.

"i ended up just fine, cho," you reassure him.

"why didn't you say anything before? were you trying to keep it from me?"

"no, baby, i just didn't think to tell you. i kinda forgot about them," you say, and that comment alone makes choso soften his features slightly.

"you forgot..." he recites your words. "does that mean you're better now?"

you hum in affirmation, smiling warmly. "it's been a while since i've hurt myself or done anything like that. i got through it. i'm okay now, these scars are just a permanent reminder of the past."

his frame sags slightly with relief, brows lifting as he looks over you with a blank expression. "i think i understand," he mumbles, looking back down at the marks. "i'm sorry you ever had to go through any of that."

"it's not your fault. you weren't there."

"i wish i had been. so i could have helped more. i know you said you're better, but maybe if i had been there i could've stopped you from hurting yourself at all."

"i wouldn't put that responsibility onto yourself, cho. it was my responsibility."

"still," his brows arch slightly. "i would have stuck with you every second of every day to make sure that you never had a second alone to do any of it. i wouldn't have let you, and i won't let you now." a thought seems to pop into his head when he finishes his last sentence. "you wouldn't go back to trying to hurt yourself, (y/n), would you?

you exhale. "i mean, i'd like to think i wouldn't, but sometimes these things aren't linear," you admit. "i just know that for now, i'm okay."

"the second you're not, though, you'd tell me?"

"yes. i would."

"you promise?"

"i promise, baby."

"okay," he sighs. "because i don't think i'd be able to function knowing you're upset."

the brown haired man leans over, carefully holding your thigh as he looks over your marks again, no longer flustered by your bare skin but entirely focused on the severity of your burns. you look down at him, hands slipping from his own as he surveys you closely like he's a doctor.

"they don't hurt anymore, do they?"

"nope. just scarred."

choso looks at you for a bit longer in silence before looking back up at you from his hunched state. "can i kiss them?"

you laugh softly, hand falling into his hair at you gaze at him with your heart aglow. "you want to kiss them?"

he nods. "so they can feel loved."

you coo, thumb smoothing over his temple as his eyes swell with adoration right before you. "of course you can."

toji fushiguro: toji is absolutely no stranger to scars. he's a human man with no cursed energy, having had his fair share of close calls on risky jobs that have left him with slashes over his calves, small pierces in his flesh, and cracked callouses. then, of course, there's the scar on his mouth bestowed upon him by his oh-so-loving family, which will be stuck with for the rest of his life.

scars follow toji like moths follow a flame, and he's numb to it. he believes that they are a part of life, both physically and mentally, especially with the kind of life that he leads. whether the wound is a large one or a small one he can barely see, he accepts scars as a part of who he is-

who he is.

while toji likes to parade around with a hardened exterior decorated with faded, scabbing wounds, that is something he deems fit for him and him only. he doesn't care what other people do with their lives as long as they leave him the hell out of it, but for the love of all the money that he has acquired over the years slaughtering sorcerers, he will be damned if he finds a single, tiny little scratch on your body.

scars are for toji, not for you, his darling little girlfriend and the day he finds out someone has hurt you enough to leave behind a mark is the day he's putting several bullets into the culprit's head.

toji's worst fear, though he hardly discusses it, is losing you and watching you get hurt. god, he practically lives to protect you, and to feel as though he has failed to do so would wound him detrimentally. he's a tough guy, but you make him so soft, and admittedly he wouldn't want to be soft for anyone but you. you're his rock, his little hot head, and he loves you more than life itself.

if you're hurt, he will lose it.

therefore, when he finds out that you're self-harming? oh, he's on the verge of losing his fucking mind.

he does a double-take when you step out of his room and into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your body, his eyes widening and his brows arching immediately.

now, toji knows your body inside and out. he's explored every inch, he knows every crook, every crevice, every mark, every texture, and he has never once in the six months you have been together seen the red lines over your inner wrist.

he watches you with twisted lips as you grab an orange from the counter before walking back into his direction. you're almost back into the room when toji calls you.

"uh uh," he stops you, and you pause, turning over your shoulder and purposefully moving your left wrist to press into your towel.

"what?"

"come here," he orders and you give him a strange look.

"why?"

"i wanna see somethin'. come here."

you're quick to snap back easily with your own sarcastic retort, clearly in a foul mood over something. "if you want to fuck, can you wait until i'm fully dried off and after i finish this?' you hold up the orange in your other hand, a perturbed look on your face.

"i don't want to fuck, (y/n), i want you to come here."

toji's voice comes out sternly, and on the verge of anger. you survey his posture, his arms leaning over his legs as he cranes to look at you with a suspicious, firm expression. you can tell that he's serious, and a sudden sense of fear overtakes you that you mask with annoyance.

you don't say a word when you slowly walk up to him, crossing your arms over your chest to conceal your wrist, the hand holding the orange tucked under your elbow.

"what is it?"

toji holds out his palm. "give it."

"...my orange?"

"put it in my hand."

you huff, carefully maneuvering your arm around to keep your inner wrist pointed toward your body as you bring forward the orange and plop it aggressively into his hand. toji watches your other arm the entire time, taking clear note of how you refuse to let your wrist show, and you know you're fucked.

the green-eyed man tosses the orange to the side of the couch and holds out his large palm again, eying you intensely. you look down at him with a frustrated frown, shrugging. "i don't have anymore oranges."

"don't be cute, doll."

"what? do you want my hand?"

"you know i want your hand."

you roll your eyes, raising the hand you had held your orange with when he stops you. "not that one. the other one."

your heart pangs, shaking your entire body as he looks to you expectantly. how the fuck had he managed to notice the scar on your wrist so quickly?

the moment you hesitate, he knows that what he saw earlier is something to be concerned about. you normally never hide yourself from toji, and the way you go about hiding your arm now is defensive enough to raise several brows. he knows you're not dumb, too. he knows that you know exactly what he wants to see.

"(y/n)." he cocks a brow, the severity of his demeanor only making you more uneasy.

he can't see. he can't see what you've just done. he'll hate you. he'll look at you like you're crazy.

"what if i don't want to give you my hand?"

"then i'll just grab it for you, and i don't think either of us wants to go there."

you release a trembling, aggravated breath. you can't get away with anything when toji's around, and while you ponder having chosen to get an orange later, you know deep down somewhere you wanted toji to see. you wanted him to help you, which is why you walked out of that bathroom half an hour after having put those scars on your arm.

"hand, now."

you turn your eyes away with a grunt, slapping your wrist into his hand facing downward. toji is quick to whip it upside once he has a grip on you, and his eyes seem to freeze over the sight of three fresh slices on your upper forearm up close.

his jaw clenches, then unclenches, then clenches and unclenches again as his lips twitch and his eyes adjust to the vision. you're hurt. not only are you hurt, but it looks as though you've recently been hurt. you've hurt yourself.

toji has a hard time figuring out what to do. he's not good with things like this, but he knows that seeing you with scars on your arm is quite literally about to set him off. he always imagined having to defend you from others who seek to hurt you, but never having to defend you from yourself.

he can't fathom it. he's struggling, the muscles in his eyes are twitching, and he can't handle it. he can feel his heart begin to race, unsure if he is angry or scared or mortified or devastated.

there are three lines in your arm. bright red. staring right back up at him.

and you put them there?

no way, you put them there.

but you did. clearly you did, or else you wouldn't be looking so guilty right now.

but when did you? how did you? why did you?

he doesn't know what to think. he doesn't know what to say. he swore he'd always protect you, but how does he even begin to try to protect you from yourself?

"are you out of your mind?"

the question leaves him rather calmly, a low inquiry that you are unsure is meant to be directed as an insult or a genuine ask.

you can't look at him. you don't even know what to think yourself. it had all happened so fast while you were in the bathroom, before you got into the shower.

one minute, you were staring angrily in the mirror, cursing your reflection as your wicked thoughts sprouted grubby arms and guided you toward the pair of brow scissors that you kept in your makeup cabinet on the left side of toji's bathroom.

you wanted to feel in control of the disdain you felt lurking within your soul. you wanted to feel something for fear that you would never be able to feel again, and before you knew it, you were dragging the exposed blade over your skin.

"d'you wanna explain why i'm looking at these cuts on your arm, (y/n)?"

and you know, you know that it's a bad sign when toji uses your name instead of the plethora of pet names he normally elects to call you: doll, princess, mama, girl, pretty baby- anything but your actual government name, and when you hear it roll from his tongue under these circumstances, you can only imagine what's going through his head.

you shift on your bare feet, looking down at your toes. "dunno," is all you say, and toji scoffs in disbelief.

"you don't know?" he emphasizes. "that's all you have to say?"

"if you wanna embarrass me, go ahead, toji. seriously, i'm tired."

"what the fuck makes you think i wanna embarrass you? i wanna know why the fuck my girlfriend walked out of the bathroom with cuts on her arm!"

you rip your arm away immediately when he yells, storming back off into his room and slamming the door behind you.

toji jumps up, suddenly frazzled. he doesn't want you alone in there. he doesn't want you out of his sight.

the navy haired man moves quickly to his door and grabs the handle, only to find it locked. he jiggles it harshly and bangs on the door. beginning to panic. "open the door, (y/n)," he shouts, meeting no reply.

little does he know, your back is pressed against the other side as tears crash over your cheeks. you don't know how you expected toji to react, but the look on his face just now and his tone of voice was enough to send you running off.

you feel ashamed, weak. you shouldn't have gone out there at all. you should have waited until you were dressed, discarding the whole idea of letting toji see what you did so that you could suffer in silence without his help, because what help could he truly provide anyway?

toji's a tough man, but he's soft for you. he would stand in front of a moving train for you. he would sacrifice his life for you, so when you don't answer, he imagines the worst.

"open the door," he says again, weaker, tugging desperately at the handle though he knows it won't budge. he knows he could break the door down, and he's prepared to until he hears you sniff amdist his pounding. he immediately stops, face dropping.

fuck.

this is bad.

he knew it was before, but for some reason, it's only now registering how bad this is.

you're in pain. you hurt yourself because you're in pain and you need him, but he doesn't know how to help you. he's never dealt with anything like this before.

his hand slides from the door and to his side, forehead knocking against the door though his other hand remains tight on the handle. he just needs to see you.

"princess," he mutters defeatedly. "don't make me kick this door in."

silence.

"please," he softens even more. "please, (y/n), let me in."

the house falls quiet once more and you give in. you feel so lost, and the only person who can at least comfort you, in his own way, is toji.

you slowly turn to unlock the door and step back as toji opens it swiftly, staring down at you with wide eyes and at least relieved to see that you haven’t done any further harm to your body.

he does, however, see your tears.

his face tightens as he bends down to scoop you up in an instant, your legs and arms tightening around him as you snivel into his shoulder, his large palms sliding over your body. he feels your small body tremble against him as he walks the two of you over to the edge of his bed, sitting down as you cling to him like a koala.

"i dunno what happened," you whimper into him. "i dunno why i did it. i dunno. i dunno."

you say it over and over, your voice as broken as toji feels listening to you.

he wishes he knew what to do. he wishes he was better equipped to handle this, but never in his worst nightmares did he dream that he would find you here, his fiery girl, the love of his life.

he's been so busy trying to protect you from the outside world that he hasn't even thought about the things that could harm you from within.

he stays silent as you babble to him through tears, holding you just like he knew how. he doesn't want to picture those scars on you. he doesn't want to picture what led you to put them there. he just wants to hold you, to at least let you know that he's here and he's not going anywhere. he may not know how to help, but he knows how to love you and he hopes that's enough.

"i'm not letting you out of my sight, y'hear?" he says gruffly into your ear and you nod meekly. "i'm not letting this happen ever again. not as long as i'm alive."

he mentally swears to rid your house and his of any and every sharp object he can find and to throw it all in a safe as you sink into him.

toji knows how to protect and toji knows how to fight. though he's more acclimated with fighting others, if he has to fight to protect yourself from your innermost demons, then hell, he will find a way to do just that.

sukuna ryomen: lord help you and lord help anyone within a fifty-mile radius when the king of curses discovers that you've been harming yourself.

sukuna is not at all very good with his words or his expressions of affirmations. he is a being of action, and he believes that he has proven his love for you enough by simply allowing you to be in his presence longer than anyone else ever has or ever will.

at first, when he sees a scar or two on your leg, he thinks its just an accident or a result of you being clumsy. then, three more pop up, then five, then far more than he's even willing to count, and he decides that this scar pattern is somehow intentional.

he knows no one else has marked them onto you because he is prepared to kill anyone who comes too close, especially if they have ill intentions. if you were in danger at someone else's hand, he would be the first to know and the person meaning you harm would be dead before they could even think about touching you.

therefore, when he sees that the only person normally within your company is him, uraume, and yourself, the process of elimination leads him to you.

he goes about confronting you rather harshly, as well, for he knows no other way to be.

you're out in the garden of his large residence one day, soaking up the sun, when you hear familiar, loud stomps heading your way from behind.

you turn around and squint to peer up at sukuna, who is standing over you with a menacing glare in his crimson eyes. you don't necessarily find this out of the ordinary, so you greet him as usual.

"hi, kuna," you say sweetly. "you good?"

he is not good. not at all, so he gets straight to the point. "come inside, woman."

you quirk a brow. "why? i just got out here?"

"do not question me."

"can it wait, like, fifteen minutes?"

"do you wish to live in the next fifteen minutes?"

you sigh, entirely too used to sukuna's facade of cruelty around you. you know by now that the king of curses would never dare to hurt you.

"i do intend, to live, yes," you smirk.

"then you will come inside as i have demanded."

"no, sukuna. i want to stay out here for a bit. i've been inside all day."

the pink haired man fumes, teeth grinding together in agitation. he doesn't want to delay this conversation any further than it has already been delayed, but of course, you choose to be difficult.

"very well, we will do this out here," he growls and you smile.

"good."

you don't prepare yourself for when sukuna grabs the back of your chair and whips out around to face him with the unpleasant screech of the legs against the cobblestone. you wince, then retract your face when sukuna lowers his to stare at you from mere centimeters away, one of his arms grasping to push up the lose leg of your shorts up to reveal the set of scars littering your skin.

your eyes go wide, his movements too quick for you to process all at once.

"are these your doing?" he hisses and you gulp.

"s-sukuna-"

"i did not ask for you to say my name. i asked if these scars are your doing."

his eyes are piercing, striking directly into yours. "what are you talking about?" you whisper shakily.

"are we going to pretend like you're an idiot now?" he snarls. he's so mean, but he feels it's for good reason. your body has been tainted, and for some reason, you have been doing the tainting. he needs to know why.

you shake your head weakly. "no..."

"then answer me properly. i will not repeat myself a third time."

you bite down on your lower lip, heart ringing in your ears. you didn't even know sukuna paid attention to you enough to catch wind of something like this.

"yes... i did this," you finally tell him, and sukuna is livid.

"and why would you be doing something so foolish? scars are not something you are meant to give yourself, human."

"please don't be a dick, sukuna, not right now."

"i am asking a perfectly reasonable question and i expect you to answer it," he glowers. "now."

"you wouldn't understand if i told you," you frown and he clicks his tongue.

"stop assuming things of me before i lock you inside of my room where you can not escape or even fathom doing something like this to yourself again under my supervision."

you curl your brows, frowning up at your boyfriend. "if i tell you, you'll call me foolish."

"because this is foolish," he grunts. "but i will not if my doing so will get you to fucking explain yourself."

you shake your head, looking down and contemplating before deciding to just get it over with so that he can stop putting you on the spot. "sometimes i just feel shitty," is all you elect to say.

but sukuna is hardly satisfied with this response. "so you choose to inflict pain upon yourself instead of calling upon me?"

"i told you, you wouldn't understand," you say. "it's not something i can easily explain to you either."

sukuna narrows his eyes. "fine."

he lowers himself to grab you legs and throw you over his shoulder. you squeal, grabbing onto his back as he begins to walk you back into his home and toward his room. "sukuna!" you kick your legs around. "put me down!"

"no. you're coming with me, and you're going to sit and talk me through every single thought that has crossed your little mind to make you think that injuring yourself in such a way is tolerable within the walls of my residence. then after that, you'll come with me everywhere i go from this point on."

"what?!" you exclaim from where you hang upside down. "I don't wanna go everywhere you go," you wine.

"too bad. you should have thought of that before you decided to harm yourself."

sukuna is horrible with words, and far more horrible with expressing his concerns, but despite your temporary discomfort with how he goes about approaching the situation, you can still see in the pinch of his brow and the stiffness of his posture, combined with his refusal to let you go without a proper explanation, that he cares very deeply for your wellbeing.

[lalunanymph]

THE CHAMPION'S PRIZE

✧₊⁺ SUMMARY the crow wins against kane and decides he wants to claim his most precious prize—you.

✧₊⁺ WARNINGS first time, mention of injuries, mention of blood, size kink, cunninglingus, big dick sylus!, sylus king of consent, semi-public sex, brief mention of handjob, oral sex, possessive, pet names (sweetie, little dove, kitten, little one, baby), voice kink, sweat kink, nipple play, girl on top, missionary, sex on the floor, unprotected sex, creampies, mc and sylus are both idiots in yearning, mild angst if you squint, 18+, mdni

✧₊⁺ DAWN SAYS if you know me... you know i love my ufc aus.... the second i saw boxer!sylus in his new card i ran to my google docs and birthed this not so h0rny piece

✧₊⁺ A03 | x/twt

The cheers of the crowds erupting from the stands vibrated through the soles of your boots.

Formidable and cocky, Sylus approaches the side of the ring, shouts and boos from the spectators gathering today, lending to the erratic yet eclectic atmosphere of this surreal championship fight. Before he enters, he takes something in his hand and kisses it, dropping it back into the safety of his short’s pocket. It’s the pouch you gave him weeks ago, the blessing of a grassland warrior’s lover bestowed onto him for this momentous night.

You’re my lucky charm, sweetie, he had texted you a few days ago when he told you to come meet him for a boxing showcase. And I want my lucky charm right there in the stands where I can see her. 

Your grip tightens on the bouquet of flowers you were holding, heart right in your throat as Sylus’s opponent enters the ring, too, and much to your consternation, he receives a bigger round of screams. He’s stocky and broad, the same height as the red-eyed menace who invited you to visit his boxing showcase right in the heart of the N109 Zone. As the bell rings, you hold your breath with the crowd. Sylus is fast and sure, his movements fluid and punches almost mesmerizing.

He moves like poetry in motion—if poetry could leave a man with a black eye and bruises, lying face down on the ring, unconscious before the second timer could go off, that is. The referee cards his win and blows the whistle. The crowd shakes and moves, their cheers and sounds reaching to the highest point of the domed ring.

It’s chaos out in the front, and you have to protect your bouquet from getting squashed by the numerous bodies thronging in the front. Suddenly, a hand shoots out to grab your arm and you find yourself right at the corner of the ring, a smug and sweaty Sylus grinning at you. You hesitate to step closer, aware of the numerous eyes on him and you. Word could get back to the Association and your return to Linkon could be sabotaged—there’s too much at stake to be seen with Sylus in broad daylight. 

But, the notorious leader couldn’t care less, gesturing for you to come closer. There's a bit of dirt on his face and you take it upon yourself to rub it off, shooting him a grin. 

“Congratulations, champion!” You enthuse, shoving the bouquet right in his face. Sylus grins and takes the arrangement of lilies, tulips and datura from your hand, tossing you a cocky smirk.

“Is that all a champion should get?” he teases, and you shake your head in mirth, crossing your arms right in front of you. 

“What else would the champion want, pray tell?”

In answer, Sylus takes your hand in his, his palm much larger and scarred compared to yours. His knuckles are red raw, and you take it upon yourself to lift them to your lips, kissing the contused flesh softly. “Are you hurt?”

“If you keep that up, kitten, I won't be,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes, smacking his chest lightly. 

Cad, you tease and he smirks again, wrapping an arm around your waist. The championship ring on his finger shines under the blinding lights, and Sylus notices how overwhelmed you're getting. The way you fidget and shift your eyes, and how you're clinging tightly to the rope of the ring, makes him think he needs to distract you for a bit.

“The flowers. How thoughtful. I feel like I should give you something in return.” He notices the way your eyes linger on the ring, and he grins wider. “Do you like the champion's ring? It's yours now.” 

He removes the bulky circle and gently takes your hand, thumb softly brushing the rise of your ring finger knuckle. He slides the ring onto your finger, taking his time to admire how sweet the circlet looks contrasting with your skin. 

“There. The Champion's ring for the champion's lover.”

Your ears heat up at his words and you toss him a quick scoff, trying hard to keep the embarrassed delight from showing too apparently on your face. “You're a tease.”

“Am I now?” He takes your hand in his again, and tugs you closer to him. Close enough you have to stumble past the boxing ring ropes. Sylus is decisive when he tugs you closer to him, almost leading you right into his Champion's Box, where the world and the strobing lights fade away. Inside the VIP room, the bruises and cuts become more apparent. 

“Sylus—”

Panic consumes you, and he lets your distress marinate, playfully not reminding you how easily he could heal himself; loving how sweetly you fret on him. 

“You're hurt.” Tersely, you pick up the first aid kit by the side of the door, rummaging inside for antiseptic and bandages. 

“You're cute when you're worried about me, kitten.” He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, touch tender despite the violence you just witnessed a few minutes ago. You ignore his jab, focusing on dabbing the freely flowing blood from a cut on his face. Sylus staves off his body loudly blaring at him to use his healing tendencies. But, despite how badly his skin is itching to close the wound, he still wants you to treat him. 

You notice him staring at you and chuckle, a playful gleam in your eye. “What?” 

“Nothing. You’re beautiful.”

You pause from swiping on antiseptic onto a cotton roll, wondering if the punches he sustained in the ring were finally starting to manifest in the form of his boldness.

“And you… have been hit in the head one too many times.”

Not one to be deterred, Sylus chuckles and snakes his arm around your waist, dragging you right onto his lap where you fall forward in a huff, eyes growing wide at how close his lips are to yours. 

“Sweetie,” he speaks and you can practically feel him breathing on you. “I might have sustained a few injuries, but none of them severe enough to not give you credit where credit is due.” He lifts his hand to a loose lock of your hair, his smirk deepening. “And you, my little dove, were an absolute vision on the stands. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

His thumb touches your lower lip, and you instinctively part your mouth. Sylus’s eyes darken with desire at your little subconscious tick, his mind pumping full of lewd thoughts which he tries to put off. Not wanting to scare you too soon.

Instead, he tilts his head closer, waiting for you to make the first move. The tantalizing sight of his lips is too much for you to resist, and you take his bait, closing in to where your breaths meet as one. 

Sylus groans into the heat of your mouth, the taste of you after so many years of yearning rendering him speechless and needy. He’d imagine this exact scenario a million times, yet the reality of it happening makes it that much sweeter. You taste like pomegranates and sin, a heady combination which makes his blood sing, body tensing at the onslaught of arousal flooding his veins.

You pull back slightly, the red string of fate manifesting as a single strand of saliva connecting you two together. Sylus greedily snapped it with a flick of his tongue, tasting your growing desire.

“Kitten…?”

He was usually more glib than this. But, the way you stare at him, eyes warm and melting with affection, makes any smart remark he has left in his arsenal shrivel up and die. Sylus swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and your eyes trail to that subtle movement. 

Without thinking, you touch the base of his neck, gingerly thumbing the swell of his throat. Sylus isn’t in the least concerned to hide his shiver from you, those ruby eyes seeming to glow with restraint as he lets you have your fill of exploring him. The sweat beading down his chest trickles past his red tank top, and your eyes follow the droplet’s motion; wondering what was waiting for you underneath… if he would let you explore him again like you did that night in his shower.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” His voice, deep enough to be a rumble, vibrates against your chest. He lifts your head to meet his eyes, and in those ruby hues, a devastating hunger was waiting for permission to gorge on you. “That night in the shower… how I had to restrain myself from taking you right there and then. You really are a tease, kitten.”

Sylus traces the outline of your lips with his thumb as his voice turns rougher. 

“Imagining what it would be like to have this soft mouth on mine… how you would sound… the look on your face when I finally claim you as mine… all… mine…”

Lower, and deeper. His voice hypnotizes you to give into your full desire, and you knew in the deepest recesses of your soul, that his Aether eye didn’t need to gouge the truth from you.

You want Sylus, in his entirety and totality. You want him like you want to quench your thirst. 

The collision of your lips together brought sparks flying from the deepest roots of your mind, connecting to your fingertips which tangle right in his hair, drawing him closer. Sylus is always careful to never scare you off with his brute strength, and in this moment, he couldn’t resist hoisting you up into his arms, pressing you right against the wall like he did the first time the two of you showered together.

Devouring your lips with a slow sensuality he reserves only for playing with his prey, Sylus teases your tongue with his, tasting the ridges of your mouth and unearthing more delightful, soft mewls and moans from you. 

“Do you feel this, kitten?” He whispers, and to your surprise, grabs your hand, placing it right on the bulge of his crotch. “This is all my desire for you—all of my wanting for you. I need you, kitten. I will never get enough of you.”

Yearning encroaches his admission, and you glance up into his love sick eyes, feeling a wave of desire surmounting your need to be cautious. There is nothing in this moment you want than to give all of you to him, but the fear of being found out—of being hunted—takes precedence in your wavering mind.

As if reading your thoughts, Sylus removes your hand from the throbbing heat of the tent in his shorts and brings it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles reverently. “I know this is a lot to consider, little dove, but take your time. I’ll be here waiting for you—always.”

The truth is, you didn’t want him to wait. Sylus has been nothing but patient in his endeavors to court you. It’s about time you return the favor. 

The moonlight shines through the blooms hanging from the edge of the table, highlighting the two figures entangled on the floor, their lips pressing insistently onto one another, bodies and breaths twining as one. 

He tastes like sin and danger, a hint of whiskey on his breath. But, you drink him up, growing drunker on his unceasing devotion. Sylus feels you tugging on the edge of his tank top, and obeys you without a word, lifting it off his toned torso and tossing it to the other side of the room. You touch the dips and divots of his chest, committing the shape of him to your memory.

Sylus thinks it’s time for you to return the favor and smirks, sliding his hand underneath your blouse. He runs warm, his touch drawing goosebumps down your arms. It’s a strain for you to hold back when you nod, the urge to take it slow yet have him completely rendering you paralyzed with inaction.

But, Sylus has got you. He takes your consent inch by inch, letting your skin appear to him in a slow creep of growing anticipation. 

Once you’re down to your bra, Sylus takes the chance to plant soft and warm kisses on your chest and shoulders, his touch gentle yet clear with his intention to take you.

“Can I look at you, sweetie?” He tugs on the cup, crimson eyes never leaving your expression. You nod, flushing when he unhooks your bra, letting the bothersome material slide down your arms, revealing your bare breasts to him.

For a man who’s used to getting what he wants, Sylus’s touches are colored with hesitation as he slowly drags his fingertips down your shoulder, sliding closer to your heaving mounds.

“May I?” His voice, a deep, reassuring rumble, instantly puts your fears at ease. 

“Yes,” you whisper, and it’s the consent he needs to run the edge of his nails over the swell of your tits, finding how they move with each breath mesmerizing.

“Can I… suck on them?” 

Your breathing catches, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you nod. “Yes… please,” you add politely. He smiles at the touch of submission in your tone, loving how you’re trusting him explicitly with this first experience. Sylus takes care to taste you like you’re a rare, exotic fruit in his lap, his tongue running across the soft flesh of your most sensitive areas, leaving behind little hickies for you to find tomorrow like a reminder of this moment you shared with each other.

You moan when he slowly explores the shape of your turgid bud with his tongue, sucking with enough pressure to get you grinding down on his bulge. “Mhm,” he releases your nipple with a soft pop, “Doll… you’re driving me crazy.”

He takes his time with your other nipple, pinching and rolling the other one with his free hand.

“Sylus… yes…” your whispers incite him to give you more; needing to hear his name rolling from your tongue. 

The heat is simmering, building to an unbearable crescendo. This time, you lick a droplet of sweat running down his jaw, inciting a deep chuckle to rumble against your throat.

“You naughty, naughty kitten.”

He trails one long, nimble finger to the heart of your arousal, gently parting your folds to find the treasure he wants to tease. You’re so wet, your body doesn’t need much coaxing to accept his finger, the tight opening of your muscles relenting to allow him to sink his middle digit knuckle-deep inside of you. With his thumb, he rubs your clit in unbroken circles, enjoying your puffs of hot breath against his neck. You feel him growing harder, his desire to claim you unmistakable. 

To his surprise, you tug the band of his shorts down, revealing his throbbing need for you. The sight of your smaller hand grasping his thick base shoots a bolt of desire through his entire body, the cool metal of the ring he gave you sliding up and down his shaft enough to make him hiss and wince.

“Kitten… you’re playing a dangerous game.”

His chest heaves with unabashed yearning, and he licks his lips when he sees the glassy look in your eyes, your mouth wet with want as you slowly lower your head to his cock. Sylus has no choice but to retract his fingers from your loving depths as he sinks his hand in your hair, cursing under his breath when you stretch your mouth around his tip. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, running his free hand through his messy mop of silver hair. God… you were much too tempting, ready for the picking.

The sight of your cherry red lips wrapped lovingly around his cock is enough to send his mind into a dizzying spiral of lust, blood pumping rapidly south. He grows and thickens in your mouth, the taste of him almost musky and sweet with a hint of salt from his sweat. Sylus groans when you run your tongue over his balls, his entire body tensing in anticipation when you bring one soft globe into your mouth. 

He takes a few moments to enjoy the feel of your warm mouth on him, before he switches up the game and puts you on your back this time.

“As much as I love the thought, kitten, I think you’d taste better,” he murmurs as he trails his obscenely long fingers up your thighs, unbuttoning your jeans in one swift movement. 

“Sylus,” you gasp when he tugs it down, revealing the captivating lace hugging your hips almost lovingly. He takes his time to admire you, cock throbbing and aching to sink right into you. But, he has to warm you up to him first. It won’t be an easy fit.

He shushes you, hooking his thumb under the band of your panties, dragging down the last barrier protecting your modesty from him.

“Trust me, kitten.” The sight of him kneeling right in between your thighs, kissing the plush flesh reverently, burns through you with desire. “I would rather make you feel good instead.”

And his mouth was on you. His tongue parting through your folds, teasing your clit, drives you wild with desire, sparks running down your spine. 

You taste so good… he murmurs. You’re doing so well for me, doll. So well. His voice is deep enough to vibrate through your cunt. His tongue moves inside of you, deep enough to touch a special spot which makes your toes curl. 

Mhm… Sylus… more… 

Who was he to say no to you? Sylus is putty in your hands, willing to give you everything and anything. 

He delves deeper, taking his sweet time to sample your wetness and submission. He curls his tongue, latching on your clit to suckle on the tight bud which makes your toes curl, heels digging deeper into the back. 

Maybe for your next trinket, I should get an anklet with my name, he mumbles, planting a brief kiss on your ankle, the thought exciting him. The image of his name sparkling off your skin, glinting with his claim on you, makes him hard enough to cut through steel. 

You nod, mouth parting to pant out his name. Yes… please…

You’re so good for him. Sylus wants to reward you, and he does so with a tender kiss to your clit. 

“Please, Sylus,” you whimper, clipping your hips against his. “Want more… need more…”

So eager, he chuckles under his breath, but he could never deny what you need. He slips off his boxer shorts and his underwear, tossing it to the floor. It’s not everyday the great Onychinus leader would bare himself for anyone’s eyes. But, you weren’t just anyone.

You were his beloved, his love, his shivanika. 

The only one who is allowed to see him like this.

Your eyes widen at how much bigger he is up close, weighing heavily on your thigh.

Is that all…?

“Why?” He teases. “Can’t take it all?” 

You swallow. Part of you thinks you can’t, but the other part—the stubborn one—knows you would do anything for him.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, as if he can read your mind. “I won’t hurt you, sweetie.”

He’s so incredibly big, you wonder how you’ve never noticed it before. The thick trunk of his forearm braces beside your head, his powerful thighs planted on either side of you. In the circle of his embrace, you feel small and delicate like a flower waiting to be uprooted by a great tree.

It enthralls you. It scares you. 

His kisses soothe you, taking your mind off his great, hulking physique. 

You dig your nails into his biceps, hanging for dear life as he preps himself to enter you. He runs his tip through your folds, smearing your juices with his pre-cum. Slapping the weight of him on your clit, again and again, each jolt driving your hips up to meet his.

Sylus… you mewl his name. Need it… need it inside…

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs sweetly, “I’ll give it to you.”

You see a sliver of his smile as he cranes his head down, kissing your jaw reverently. You weren’t joking when you said you were terrified of his cock, but Sylus took his sweet time to prepare you for him.

The first stretch always hurts the most, and he makes sure to deepen his kiss as a distraction.

It works. Sort of. 

You tighten involuntarily around him, and he hisses under his breath, brows knitted together. “You’re still tense… relax, sweetie. Or else, I can’t get in.”

To help you, he sucks on the tip of his index and middle finger, drawing them slickly towards your core. He massages your clit with feathery soft circles, stimulating you over and over again until you’re whimpering and shaking.

“Does it feel good?” He hums into the crook of your neck and you nod, embarrassed at how easily it is for him to slip deeper inside. “Mhm… you’re loosening up just nice for me, kitten.”

It’s insane how much his voice vibrating against your throat is driving you wild. 

Desire coats your begging—Please, Sylus. I need more… more…

Deciding you’re ready enough, he nods, crimson eyes softening at the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

No need to cry, sweetie. I’ve got you.

The smell of him, musk and sweat, envelopes you as he curves his body over yours, intent on driving you crazy with how close he is. But, he’s never close enough.

Until, finally, he’s pressed inside you, skin-to-skin, breath-to-breath, buried right to the hilt. It’s a mess between your thighs, slick and pre-cum staining your thighs, drawing a lewd symphony of wet squelches when he finally begins to move. 

Thrusts so deep, you feel it right in the heart of your desire. It turns you on, to have him invading your senses like this. The scent of him burning your nose, the taste of his tongue heavy in your mouth. Staining you with the very essence of him till your pores are heavy with his presence; your entire body marked with him. 

Sylus doesn’t hold back any longer, the beast inside of him unleashed the second you murmured your assent for him to have you in every way possible.

So good for me, baby. You feel like a dream, he whispers. Good girl—letting your lover have you like this. You’re so good for me, aren’t you, little one? 

Your eyes flicker to where he’s stretching you out and he chuckles, noticing your minute gestures.

You like watching me, huh? As he speaks, his cock sinks deeper inside of your warm depths, the both of you hissing at the same time. Mhm, fuck… dirty little girl. 

The spark of degradation reminds you again who exactly is fucking you. A dark man, wanted for his misdeeds, and yet here he was with you on the floor, entangled with your body and taking the last of your innocence away. You force the thoughts away, focusing on the now.

The now of having Sylus in your arms, feeling his devotion marking the delicate skin of your neck, leaving his claim on your skin. 

That’s it… you’re doing so well for me…

You always had an inkling of how good Sylus is at talking, but you never expected for him to be this glib while balls-deep in you.

Feels like a dream, kitten. I love you.

Your breath catches right in your throat.

Did he just…?

Sylus’s ruby eyes warm at the confused look on your face, and he slows his thrusts, nuzzling your jaw.

“Yes. You heard right—I love you. I love you. Is that so hard to believe?” 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, focusing on giving himself to you. A part of him holds no hope for your response, but he’s taken aback when you tip his face closer, drawing his mouth to yours like a moth to a flame.

Your kiss burns through him, and he moans when you taste his lower lip, your honeyed whisper of reciprocation enough to bring him to his knees.

“I love you, too.”

Sylus groans, letting his head fall on your shoulder, the protective arch of his body drawing you closer into his arms. 

Kiss me, kitten… kiss me and never regret me again.

You behave so well for him, following his every instruction. Even ones you don’t exactly understand. 

Your lips seal on his like a covenant, and his blessing is given in the form of his seed pumping hotly into your depths; the feeling of your walls squeezing him tightly enough to bring him to the pearly white gates.

Fuck, kitten—he gasps and it’s all mounting again. Getting hotter and better.

His voice is tinged with desire, breathy and deep as he noses your hair. 

You’ll be the death of me, Y/N. 

Of all the names he loves calling you, your own name would forever be the sweetest utterance on his lips.

Please… you gasp, needing to feel more. 

You’re so greedy, it’s almost unlike you. But, you know Sylus is a giver. He will always give you what you need. 

I got you, he rumbles, and the mixture of slick and his cum spills down to the ground, staining your thighs. He doesn’t let up, fully needing to have you cream on him till you’re spent. 

He feels how close you are from the tensing of your thighs, your body poised at the edge again. Ready to take him. 

And he can’t hold back. You were like the sweetest addiction he would always relent to.

Come for me, you murmur and it shocks him—this unexpected boldness. Come inside me, Sylus… make me yours.

Yours… yours… you were always his. And this confirms it. You and him were tied together in a red string of fate, packaged neatly as soulmates in this life and for every life that would come.

No matter if it kills him. No matter if he would lose his heart again.

It was always yours in the first place.

Sylus leaves you with his burgeoning warmth, ropes of it shooting inside of you as you come for him again—fully, completely and wholly his.

Beginning till end, from time immemorial. You would always have his heart. 

He stays deep inside you until it’s done, leaving lazy kisses on your face, on your chest and lips. The crowds have long disappeared, this room cordoned off by his organization to give him space.

His men know better than to barge in, and the organizers are wise enough to stay out of the champion’s way if they know what’s good for them. 

“I’m so… full,” you whisper, twitching your hips. “Full of you.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, and leans down on his bruising elbows to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Is that a complaint I hear, kitten?” 

You shake your head, the movement setting dull sparks of desire shooting into his lower body when he feels your walls tensing around his softening cock. 

Good, he swipes his thumb over your cheek, catching a stray sweat droplet before it could fall to the ground. Because I’m far from done with you, kitten.

When he kisses you this time, it tastes of a promise already fulfilled.

feedback and reblogs are much loved!! thank you for your support <3

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or claim as your own. do not feed my works to AI.

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐩!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! creampie/fucking his previous load of cum into you, mating press, toji is a mean teasing bully, pussy slapping, choking, taunting/degradation, hints at cock warning, light size kink, praising Toji, daddy, begging, pain kink

fey: let’s see if tumblr likes this better!

“Look at all that cum drippin’ out.” He squeezes your thigh making it harder for you to move your weak legs.

Digging your nails into his hard pecs, you’re pleading with Toji “Please move! Please! You’d said if I could make ya cum you’d fuck me please! You’re cock is so hard inside me, please fuck me! Please!” Grinding your hips, it feels so good to have his thick cock pushing some of his cum deeper into you.

You feel like a dirty whore already full of your husband’s cum yet craving more. You couldn’t get enough of Toji, his deep voice, his large hands and fat veiny cock are addictive.

Toji tucks an arm behind his head, his muscular biceps subtly flexing, “Ya really want me to fuck ya still, you’re that much of a whore? You’re already filled with my cock n’ cum, what more do you need?”

You beg, “For you to move please! You started this by rubbing on me telling me how you’ve been thinking about cumming in me. N’ I've been so good fucking myself on your cock!” He smirks when you try to pout whilst bouncing yourself on his cock.

“And whose is the pathetic slut who gets wet for me so easily?” He roughly grabs your throat and hip, holding you to him. It’s effortless how he gets off

“And whose is the pathetic slut who gets wet for me so easily?” He roughly grabs your throat and hip, holding you to him. It’s effortless how he gets off the bed with you in his grasp and his cock buried in your cunt.

He presses you against the wall, holding you there by your throat as he pulls his cock out. Roughly slapping your cunt, “C’mon tell me ya stupid lil whore otherwise I won’t let you cum.” Your body jolts from each harsh slap making your soaking wet cunt sting. His thick cum drips when your cunt clenches nothing. As you claw at Toji’s large hand, desperate to answer. You pathetic attempts making him smirk down at you.

He lines himself up, “Too late! I guess you don’t wanna cum.” Rocking his cock into you with a quick roll of his hips. Filling your sloppy wet cunt up, his fat head rubbing your sweet spot making your toes curl.

Toji loosens his firm hold on your throat, with any air you get you’re pleading. “Please lemme cum! I wanna cum on your cock! It feels so much better when you help me cum! Please I’m a greedy slut who gets turned on by you too easily.”

He grabs your thighs pinning you in a mating press. There is no where to run, trapping against the wall his massive muscular body so he can bully your cunt with his cock however he pleases.

“You’re so hot n big! I love the scar on your lip, how your hands feel when you grope me. Please daddy! I wanna cum on your cock lemme cum I’ve been a good slut! I’ve rode your cock till you came in me please!” He leans down quieting your pleads with a rough kiss.

You slip your fingers into his dark hair making him groan when you tug on it. His kiss softens when you whine, it’s so loving and sweet the way he’s making out with you. Contrasting his merciless rough, steady thrusts that are perfectly ruining your sloppy wet cunt.

Biting your bottom lip before he pulling away. Toji looks down to watch your soaking wet cunt take his fat cock. “I’ll give you another chance, how badly does my stupid brat wanna cum on my cock?”

all works!

[foggysilverfeathers]

Fake HC 10 dashboard mayhaps??

0 notes

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

Reminder to love yourself! Smell the trees! Everything will be okay in the end 😊 ☀️

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

nvm gem ran out of pickles im depressed again

🐟 gemstone Follow

I RESTOCKED THIS MORNING HOW HAVE YOU ALREADY SOLD ME OUT

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

1,930 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 126 without a mending book

27 notes

🚂 scars-axasqottles Follow

uM hey @.hpo-official could i ask why you havent' received my messages?/? Every calsl Ive made just puts me on holdd

⬜️ hpo-official-948204deactivated

Sorry about that, sir. Admin error. I'll speak to my manager.

🚂 scars-axasqottles Follow

...hELLO?

🌸 joel-beans Follow

lmao they deactivated what a loser

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

Remember there's a person behind every poor worker! I see you bullies in the notes

🐟 gemstone Follow

@/mending-book-fanatic is a hermit permit office spy confirmed??

2,441 notes

🌸 joel-beans Follow

Guys everyone agrees that purpur is cheap and beautiful and godlike and everyone should go buy it right now this second *sweats*

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

I feel like I'm missing something...

🌸 joel-beans Follow

SHE HAS EYES EVERYWHERE BDUBS

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

Joel!

🌸 joel-beans Follow

If I don’t respond within the hour assume she got me

133 notes

🎩 symmetrical-minister Follow

anyone know a good shop for ethically-sourced wood?? i normally shop at big wood but ive heard things about a mafia :/

🪓 big-salmon Follow

That is absolutely NOT true!! If anything you should be targeting the crypto scheme at Big Wood,,

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

aaaand this is why you should never trust businessmen in red suits

🪓 big-salmon Follow

says the one compensating with a massive HOURGLASS of all things

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Actually @.big-salmon Xisuma_voyd made a really well-explained video here going into detail about all of the shady elements of Big Wood, it's worth a watch.

🐟 gemstone Follow

To answer the original question OP here are some safer (privately owned!) shops :)

Gem's Moss Shop (azaleas for sale which can be bonemealed)

Bdub's Bamboo Shop (bamboo wood is a good eco-friendly alternative to your typical spruce or oak)

The Purr-purr bus (if you're okay with having slightly more exotic trees, from the End)

Hope this helped! <3

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

Why would you pay diamonds for less when you could just pay a few grains of sand for the best quality wood in the shopping district? You people confuse me

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

actually the Purr-purr bus isn't ethical at all!! ive heard they blackmail people into giving them sails!!!

🐟 gemstone Follow

*sales

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

SHUDDUP

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

:(

2,750 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 131 without a mending book

34 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 164 without a mending book

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Grian you know you can get free mending books at the cat cafe right

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

it's not the same

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

I need to be able to smell the breath of the sea between its sodden pages

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

continue along the same path and you'll soon be facing villager unions

2,316 notes

🔥 tongo-tak Follow

Friendly reminder that not everyone wakes up at 2am, so please tag your Pearldle spoilers for at least a few hours!!

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

skill issue tbh

1,102 notes

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

hallo how flirt with pretty girl time sensitive question

🌺 git-gorgeous Follow

sell them something

🔥 tongo-tak Follow

bribe diamonds

🐍 puppet-master Follow

kill them

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

okay will do!!!!

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

wait

2,989 notes

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Happy pride month to lgbtqia+ people of all ages, genders and sexualities, you're all so valid and so loved <3 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ ❤🧡💛💚💙💜

🐟 gemstone Follow

<3

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

I'm making a rainbow beacon for pride, come look for it! i'll be with it by my husband @ renthedog's hole all week

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

*HOLE

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

*HOME

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

WAIT I ACCIDENTALLY TAGGED IT

🐾 renthedog Follow

um.

2,655 notes

🌸 joel-beans Follow

etho is just kakashi on maple syrup send post

🌸 joel-beans Follow

almost forgot to add important additional difference! etho is also obsessed with me

1,113 notes

[scara-writes]

paramour

Yandere!Cheating Duke X Duchess! Reader X Yandere!Lover Servant

I just want to write a reader who has the same/more power as/to the yandere(s).

The setting is still in the fantasy/manhwa world, medivial, any setting as long it's not modern.

CW: two yandere, rivals, cheating, consent smut, infidelity.

I'm making the darling a little more forward(?), daring, more power or that can go against a yandere. Atleast, that's what the darling thinks. Also, this is not polished like my other stories.[ Forgive me, I'm not good with smuts! I also love y'all comments and your ask/request(will answer them soon!). The Yandere Emperor and Yandere Crown Prince son really outnumbered the yandere Omega. Y'all are crazy for that!]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Mistress." He murmured. His arms hadn't let go off your waist. It was the first thing your eyes landed on when the sunlight came in to greet a new day from the window balcony. You closed your eyes again to find your way back to sleep again.

Your hands went to trace his back full of scar last night from your nails. You hummed when he gave you a pepper kisses on your exposed skin.

"Morning." He gave you one last kiss on your lips before snuggling between your chest. His arms hadn't move around your waist since last night."Mmmh..morning..." You muttered looking away—eyes still close—from the sun when it kissed your face.

"Do you want me to call the maids to serve you breakfast?" His sweet voice lull to sleep more. You whispered no. Last night, this man gave you something akin to that of heaven, something your husband never gave you.

Last night, you made love with this man. The same man you rescued from the human trafficking, kidnapping commoner from the outskirts of the kingdom. Now, indebted by your kindness he devout himself to you with his life.

You groaned, feeling your body is aching all over. This goes not unnoticed by your lover."Did I hurt you to bad?" He asked. His earth orbs are gleaming with shine and now getting filled with tears. "I-I'm sorry, I was rough with you mistress." His voice full of regret and loathe on himself.

You opened your eyes, ruffling his curly brown hair before stroking it. Staring down at his eyes. "No. You did good." You smiled at him, cupping his face, before kissing him in the lips. He whimpered,deepening his into yours.

The intoxication of alcohol must have taken over you. Drowning yourself from the alcohol beverages after your husband didn't arrive on the scheduled date, you waited for him for a whole day to arrive. Alone in the gazebo, Everett was the one who went to your weeping figure. That was a month ago. Everett offered himself to shower you with his love. At first you feel reluctant about this, you will never be the type of person to use someone just so you can feel yourself happy. Everett didn't care about it whether you use him or not. He wanted to prove himself that you are worth to be love. This man made your heart flutter in a way that your husband once gave you before the marriage.

"I-I love what happened last night, my mistress." He whispered bashfully, his pretty swollen lower lip,you bitten hard last night, went to reach his eyes giving you a wide smile. The sun kissed his tan face adding a charming look. His neck has full of bites and bruises from you. His cheeks become a little darker shade from blushing, he must have reminisced something last night.

Now, you made him your lover. Though not completely in love with Everett. You also shower him with items or materials that most commoners would love to have but it doesn't seem like this man is materialistic. He just wants you.

You didn't hide Everett to your husband.

What's the use of hiding your fling to Theodore when he was the first one to cheat on this marriage?

Despite being loyal to that man you loved. He had the audacity to tell you that you shouldn't pry on his private his life after you confronted him with a newly hired maid going out. "Our marriage contract states that the two parties should not meddle one another's private life else this contract shall be annuled."

So all of his flexing his love for you was nothing but a hoax? A show? A lure for you to agree to marry him?

Though, your marriage with him was for the politcial marriage. You once fell in love with Theodore. The same man who gave you flowers everytime you two date, the same man who kissed in your cheeks after he walk you home, the same man who always writes poems about his devotion to you. Did he pursuade you to continue this marriage by making you love him so that the two duchy became one? It may seem like you wanted this marriage at first. You didn't, your family wanted it and they have asked you—no annoyingly, they plead you to marry him, because your parents and his parents signed a contract that their children will reunite the two duchy.

"Your ladyship, the duke asked for your audience to join him in the breakfast." Your butler from the other side of your room, outside the door, knocked and speaks after. You frown upon hearing it, looking at the closed door, what does he want?

You feel strange about your husband nowadays. He had been asking for your presence this past few days. Never once he called for you after your wedding with him.

You clicked your tongue and turn to look at your lover. You notice Everett's face was frowning too. "Tell the duke that I will be there in a moment." You announced to the butler outside the room expecting the old man to gear you through it. You look back at the man leaning his weight on you. You tap the curly haired lover to let you go from his hold yet he didn't budge after moving yourself to sit up instead you heard yourself going 'oomfh!' and finding your lips were on his again. You groaned while he moaned weakly. He pushed you down on the bed, his lips never leaving yours until you were out of breath. A string of saliva trailed between your mouths. Everett was smiling before diving his lips into your skin, to one of your chest, fondling the other. You feel a little ticklish and panting at his stimulation. "Eve—! Wait! Ah..." Your voices went unheard, The male's mewling, sucking on to your flesh like thirsty man who hadn't had a drink.

Your hand went to tug his hair as you moaned out his name. "Shi—Eve... Oh! S-stop... Ah.."

His other hand goes to put one of legs above his back and parted the other leg, accessing himself between you even more."m-mistress!"

You groaned when you felt him grind between you. He looked at you with a pleading eyes, he look like he will cry again, the tears filling up yo the side from his eyes. "M-mistress." He whined his mouth was already in another mound. You feel his hardness between. "p-please? I'll be good! Please... huff..I'll make y-you feel good!"

Your eyes are hazy from the pleasure. "You want.. hah... it?" His eyes getting filled again with tears. You tug him by the hair not enough to hurt him. You landed your lips on his ears. Panting and breathless when you felt his hands is still fondling your body. "You got..ngh... to earn it, pretty boy." You murmurs made him whimpered. "You have to be my good boy... Are you my good boy?"

He nod, a tear fell down to his cheeks, he leaned down to your lips, murmuring, i-am-your-good-boys, thank-yous and I-love-yous.

The room filled with noises that could make anyone flustered and uncomfortable. You didn't realize from your high you are feeling that the butler is coughing uncomfortably behind the door excusing himself as he will inform the duke what you told him earlier.

You went down the stairs with a difficulty, aching between your thighs. You can't find any dress to cover the one hickey on your neck, Everett apologize and helped you cover it with a foundation but it failed horribly from covering seeing that the foundation wasn't blend well and you do not want your maids do it for you. Not when you found out that almost all of them had already been with your husband. You were planning to replace them sooner.

You stopped at the closed door leading to the dinning room. The butler from earlier straightened his posture, clearing his throat after he saw you. He announced your presence behind the door opening the door for you."My lord, your ladyship is here."

You walked in after thanking one of the male servant for pushing the seat for you once you sit across the lord of the household, your husband, the Duke.

The breakfast before you was served cold. If you have arrived earlier you could have eaten warm. You glance at your husband, surprised that his plate has not been finished and it looked like he didn't touched it. You noticed his eyes is trained on to you since you came in, yet his eyes isn't on you but to your neck and the way you walk earlier.

His grey eyes seemed to be narrowing, he scoffed. "You're late."

You glance away, picking one of the utensil, stabbing the meat, landing it to your mouth chewing it. You gulped it down before taking another bite. The marinated pork seems to be delicious even if the breakfast a little no warm.

"It seems you are enjoying with your toy a little too much." He added, there was anger rising beneath his voice.

Oh, the egg is a little bland but it is still edible nonetheless.

"There are more new reports about your speculated infidelity to the public. Do you know that?"

You looked at him after eating the last piece of the sunny side egg, smiling: finally acknowledging his presence."Yeah, what about it? It's not like it will ruin our marriage. After all, you had a numerous of headlines about your 'rumored' infidelity too. Did our contractwas nulled after that? It didn't right?"

"(Y/n)."

"Yes, husband?"

His eyes widened a little before going back on giving you death gaze. "Kick that slave away. I don't like him." He demanded. Though he wasn't shouting. You frowned, how dare he?

"Why would I? It's my decision whether I choose to throw him out or not."

"I do not want him near my property." He complained, gritting his teeth at the last word.

"This is my property as well!" You sternly answered back. Not leaving another room for an argument.

There was silence between the room.

"... I... don't want him near you." You heard him. You blinked at the sudden word that blurted in his mouth.

You scoff standing up, "I think I should finish my meal somewhere..." You starts walking back to where you enter the room.

"(Y/n)." Theodore called you. You didn't observe the way his eyes longed for you. You were focus on the anger within you. "Are we forgetting something, Theodore?" You questioned.

He pondered, those orb you used to love held a confusion.

"Meddling into your partner's private life will annul this marriage... Wasn't that written in our contract?" You bitterly told him. "Sounds familiar right? Do not dare demand me to throw away Everett." You added.

Finally waiting for this moment for this to happen. Guess he will get to taste his own medicine.

"... As long as we do our part in this household we will act as husband and wife. Is not that what you told me?"

"..."

"Now then, I will excuse myself. I have no longer desire to finish my breakfast here." With that, you leave him there.

When you reach the door, opening it, you were surprise to see Everett waiting outside. "What are you doing here?" You asked him. Your frowned face was replaced with a confusion look before giving him a small smile. The man infront of you return your smile with a small grin, placing one of his arm on your waist."W-well, I feel bored and alone in my own room. So I found myself waiting here w-with the butler. Besides I saw you walking wobbly earlier and I-I am concerned that you might have even more difficulty walking... So f-forgive me for not staying put." The look concern on his face adding the pout from his lips made him look cute.

"What are you a puppy?"You poke his nose giggling as you walk away with him, your eyes went back to talk to the butler. Telling him you want to continue your breakfast at your garden, asking him to make it for a two people. The butler bowing to your order before going to the kitchen area to order the maid.

Your husband on the other hand, loath with rage and jealousy mixing under his eyes. His eyes narrowed especially when the slave you brought in leaned on top of your head kissing at the crown part of your head, leaning to your ear to whisper something akin to sweet talks. The arm around your waist went to rub your back.

If only you glance again on Everett's face. You would have caught him giving your husband a smug smirk.